

LIBRARY OF CONGRESS. 


UNITED STATES OF AMERICA. 


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BYBURY 


TO 

BEACON STREET 


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MRS A M DIAZ 

Author of 

Domestic Problems ^ 
The Cats’ Arabian Nights 
Polly Cologne 
The John Spicer Lectures 
William Henry Letters 
and others 


X91387 sS, 




DEC 


3 


BOSTON 

D LOTHROP COMPANY 

FRANKLIN AND HAWLEY STREETS 



Copyright, 1887, 

BY 

D. Lothrop Company. 


CONTENTS 


I. 

The natural Way . 


Page. 

7 

II. 

A Talk at the Hartmans 


13 

III. 

Gathering together. 


20 

lY. 

Do You BELIEVE IN LuCK ? 


29 

Y. 

I CANNOT DIG .... 


37 

YI. 

Aunt Sylvie’s Letter 


45 

YII. 

Is IT ANY Damage to a Girl 

TO BE 



Pretty? .... 


53 

YIII. 

Company comNG 


62 

IX. 

Let us Yisit one Another 


70 

X. 

Mrs. La:mmerkin’s Account 


77 

XI. 

Mr. Lainimerkin’s Endeavors . 


86 

XII. 

Wo:man, or Work ? . 


96 

XIII. 

A HIRED Girl .... 


103 

XIY. 

Looking on both Sides . 


113 

XY. 

Lightening the Load 


119 

XYI. 

“Many Hands maice light Work 

» 

127 

XYII. 

Husband and Wife . 


137 

XYIII. 

A Talk matrimonial 


149 

XIX. 

Odd or Even? .... 


157 

XX. 

The Beacon Street Woman’s Accoltnt. 

168 

XXI. 

Society 

. 

180 

XXII. 

Go into the House when it Rains 

189 


IV 


Contents. 


XXIII. COMMONAUTIES 198 

XXIV. Tashion 204 

XXV. What shall we do with our Time? . 212 

XXVI. What shall we do with our Time? (cow.) 218 

XXVII. The Root of the Matter . . . 226 

XXVIII. Fair Play 235 

XXIX. Sewing and other Work . . . 243 

XXX. Who shall decide? 251 

XXXI. Lucinda’s Letter 261 

XXXII, Miss Hunt’s Letter to Lucinda . , 268 


BYBURY TO BEACON STREET 



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BYBURY TO BEACON STREET. 


I. 

THE HATTJRAL WAY. 

Friekd SoLOMOisr: 

Can you not, seeing that you are named for a 
wise man, suggest some wise plan for helping us 
through the winter? We are a small neighbor- 
hood, wedged in among the hills, with many long 
evenings in prospect. These evenings might be 
made profitable, in the best sense of the word, if 
we only knew how to make them so. What I 
should like would be to bring the people together 
occasionally; but, when we are jDrought together, 
what shall we do? And whether the older ones 
will let themselves be brought together or not is a 
question, as some of them are shy of anything 
which savors of improvement. I have mentioned 
the subject once or twice, but with indifferent 


success. 


8 


The Natural Way. 


I know what ’tis owin’ to, Cap’n Jerome,” 
said Parson Chandler the other day, speaking in 
his usual solemn manner, ‘‘ ’tis all owin’ to your 
bein’ an old bachelor, that you expect to reg’late 
things, and make ’em do right. An old bachelor 
is self-adjustin’, so to speak. He can reg’late his 
affairs to suit himself. He can spend his money 
on books, and his time in perusin’ ’em. But if 
ever you should come to be a married man, Cap’n 
Jerome, you’ll find there must be victuals to eat 
and clothes to wear. And it isn’t doin’ a woman 
a deed o’ kindness to tell her to neglect her work, 
and ease off her cookin’ and go here and go there. 
What’s the use of all this reformation? Folks 
have settled down into regular habits ; and ’tis best 
to let things go on in the natural way.” 

Parson Chandler is no more a parson than I am 
a captain. We are both of us plain working men. 
He gets his title from his unwavering gravity of 
demeanor. I can only account for mine by the 
fact of my having been, perhaps, rather over- 
zealous in attempting to reform certain habits of 
living which prevail in Bybury, and by my sub- 
scribing to so many periodicals as to be accused, 
behind my back, of putting on airs. Reformers do 
sometimes make themselves ridiculous by their 


The Natural Way, 


9 


officiousness ; but I have never been able to dis- 
cern this quality in my own efforts, all of which 
have seemed to me warranted by the circumstances 
and by common sense. 

The closing sentence of Parson Chandler’s ad- 
dress is one with which I have become exceedingly 
familiar — ‘‘ the natural way.” Let me attack, 
ever so mildly, any habit or routine, and I am sure 
to encounter this phrase, used in one shape or 
another. Some people set it up as a wall of de- 
fence; others seem to consider it a final, knock- 
down argument, and hurl it at me with a kind of 
“ now-you’re-done-for ” air, as if no reasoning could 
stand that blow. 

The aggravating mixture of solemnity and de- 
cision in Parson Chandler’s utterance caused me 
to jot down certain remarks on the habits of the 
neighborhood, just for the sake of considering 
whether these habits are or are not in accordance 
with the ‘‘ natural way.” 

Remark first : Generally speaking, every avail- 
able moment is spent in physical labor. “ So 
tired.” The expression is so much used that 
the meaning has almost gone out of it. 

Remark second : Too little sociability. Several 
families have ‘‘ feelings ” toward each other, which 


lO 


The Natural Way. 


‘‘ feelings ” would probably die out were the fam- 
ilies to meet oftener and have more interests in 
common. 

Remark third : Too marked a division between 
the older and younger people. 

Remark fourth: Not much progression. The 
mental faculties are not being sufficiently devel- 
oped. As proof, I give, word for word, a conver- 
sation which recently took place in my hearing, 
% C' 

and which almost exactly resembles the conversa- 
tions I used to hear, among my aunts and grand- 
mothers, forty years ago. 

(Conversation). — ‘‘Do you think he’ll marry 
the widow?” 

“ He’ll stan’ in his own light if he does.” 

“ Some think they’ll both stan’ in their own 
lights.” 

“ She needs a home.” 

“ And he needs a housekeeper.” 

“ They say she’s worth a little somethin’.” 

(Doubtfully.) “ May be so. I don’t trouble 
myself about other folks’s matters. She might 
have had somethin’ ; but she’s one o’ that kind 
it don’t take ’em long to run through a prop- 
erty.” 

“ W ell, for my part, I’m willin’ they should 


The Natural Way. 


II 


suit themselves; and I’ve been told ’tis quite 
pleasin’ to her folks.” 

‘‘ How is it with his folks ? ” 

‘‘Hem! — Now don’t tell this from me; but I 
have heard ’twasn’t quite so pleasin’. You know 
she’s sort of mifacultied, — no calculation ; don’t 
know when to put her potatoes in the pot, as the 
old sayin’ is.” 

“ She holds her age pretty well.” 

“ Yes, middlin’ well. She’s a good deal be- 
holden to dress, though.” 

“ I think, myself, she’s too old to wear flowers 
in her bomiet.” 

“ That was a handsome cloak she had on last 
Sunday.” 

“ Yes ; I noticed that cloak. Do you think she 
had it given to her, or bought it right out ? ” 

“ I don’t know ; but some folks say she’d take 
extra pains with her looks at this particular time, 
if it took her last cent.” 

“ I suppose she’s aware he has his failin’s.” 

“ Anything in particular ? ” 

“ Why, didn’t you ever hear ? But maybe ’tis 
only on extra occasions.” 

“ You don’t mean to say he’s ever overcome 
with liquor?” 


12 


The Natural Way. 


‘‘ Well, I have heard it hinted. Sam Knowles’s 
wife told me that at their barn-raisin’ — now don’t 
tell of this from me, for she didn’t want it men- 
tioned,” — 

'' Oh ! I shouldn’t think of mentioning it.” 

“Well, Sam Knowles’s wife told me that at 
their barn-raisin’, the other day, he was just about 
how fares ye.” [End of conversation.] 

Remark fifth : Too little mirth. The greater 
part of the elder people are, so to speak, in a state 
of perpetual gravity. With them, a serious face 
is a satisfactory endorsement of its owner. To be 
grave is to be good. Fun is, in some cases, ex- 
cusable, never commendable. Their joining in a 
simple game, or witnessing an entertainment, for 
the avowed purpose of being amused, would be 
considered, by themselves, as improper, if not 
actually sinful. If surprised into a laugh, the 
laugh is commonly atoned for by superadded dole- 
fulness, and by the countenance taking on a sort of 
apologetic expression, the idea being that laughter 
is something foreign to the real purposes of life. 


II. 


A TALK AT THE HAKTISIANS. 

Feiend Solomon: 

Consult the women about this plan of mine ? I 
believe you are right. They might, as you say, 
make suggestions which masculine slowness would 
not think of. The only wonder is how your mas- 
culine slowness ever conceived so bright an idea. 
As to ‘‘the materials which Bybury offers to work 
with,” we have Parson Chandler — otherwise Mr. 
Jason Chandler — and his wife, and various other 
staid, elderly, hard-working people, married and 
unmarried. For liveliness, we have a dozen or 
more of young Byburyites, who occasionally gather 
together, by themselves ; and we have, also, some 
lively ones among the “betwixt and between,” as 
certain individuals are called, who seem too old to 
keep company with the young folks, and too young 
to settle down for old folks. And we have cer- 
tainly one lively one in Miss ’Cinda [Lucinda] 
13 


14 


A Talk at the Hartmans. 


Potter, who though an old maid of — I dare not 
say how many years, does the biggest part of what 
there is done to keep life in the place. For com- 
mon sense and general information, I must men- 
tion, in an especial manner, this same Miss ’Cinda 
and her sister Mary Ann, nearly ,as old as herself, 
and the Alderson family. For industry, integrity, 
and natural kind-heartedness, we have a pretty 
good share of the whole population. This natural 
kind-heartedness has been damaged, in some in- 
stances, by certain gossipy habits which would be 
given up, I am sure, if the people could be made 
interested in subjects worth talking about. 

Miss ’Cindy, Mary Ann and myself stepped in 
to see Allen Hartman and his wife, that evening, 
and laid before them our plan, the two ladies, of 
course, doing the chief of the talking ; because they 
had brighter thoughts than I had and a handier 
use of words. I, for one, never feel like making 
flings at womankind on account of their glibness, 
but, on the contrary, have a sense of thankfulness 
that there is a force among us which has the power 
to work up some of my own feelings into thoughts, 
and then put the thoughts into words. 

Mr. Mundy thinks,” said Mary Ann that even- 
ing, “that, as we are a little nest of people shut 


A Talk at the Hartmans, 


IS 

in here for the winter, we should make the most 
of ourselves and of each other.” 

“ That has a sensible sound,” said Allen, but how 
shall we do it?” 

“Why, Mr. Mundy thinks,” said Mary Ann, 
“that the neighbors should meet together of an 
evening, say once a week, or once a fortnight.” 

“ For fun ? ” Allen asked her. 

“It won’t do to say fun,” said Miss ’Cindy. 
“It won’t do to say it. Imagine Mr. ‘Parson’ 
Chandler and Mrs. ‘ Parson ’ having fun in earnest ! 
But we’ll mean fun.” 

“ Call it recreation,” said Eunice. 

“ The grown-up ones won’t enlist under any such 
useless banner,” said Miss ’Cindy. 

I asked, “Why not say for general entertain- 
ment?” 

“ It strikes me,” said Allen, “ that you will have 
to begin with instruction, pure and simple, and 
enlist us under that banner. The Yankee mind is 
always willing to be instructed.” 

“ It likes to be amused, too,” said Eunice. 

“ Yes ; but the adult Yankee mind of Bybury will 
not seek its amusement with malice aforethought,” 
said Miss ’Cindy. 

“ The coming together is of itself a mighty good 


1 6 A Talk at the Hartmans. * 

thing,” said Allen. “Even in this small place there 
is too great a separation of interests. We have 
our little rivalries, our jealousies, misunderstand- 
ings, fault-findings, hard feelings, and hurt feelings, 
which keep us apart. W e’ll come together and rub 
off the boundary lines.” 

“Yes,” said I, “we must have more in common. 
We must think together and talk together.” 

“And laugh together,” cried Miss ’Cindy. “ Peo- 
ple always feel friendly when they are laughing 
together.” “ And we might bring up in the conver- 
sation,” said Mary Ann, “some of the subjects 
which are so much talked about and written about, 
nowadays.” 

“ Yes indeed ! ” I exclaimed, with more earnest- 
ness than I intended. “ Any subjects which have 
to do with life and living.” 

Said Eunice to her husband, “ Allen, what makes 
you look so roguishly at Cap’n ’Jerome, otherwise 
Mr. Mundy ? ” 

“ Because,” said Allen, “ I suspect otherwise Mr. 
Mundy of serious views. His talk has been of 
entertainment. I have no confidence in him. 
He means to do us good. Entertainment indeed ! 
There’ll be matters of importance smuggled in. 
Mark my word ! ” 


A Talk at the Hartmans. 


17 


‘‘ I should like to ask if fun isn’t a matter of 
importance ? ” cried Miss ’Cindy. 

‘‘Great, very great,” said Allen. “It is the 
lubricating oil which makes life go better. But 
then, there must be something to go. There must 
be purposes, motives, actions.” 

“ The worst tiring about that house,” said Mary 
Ann, as we came out of the yard, “is, that ’tis a 
very hard place to get away from.” 

“I know it,” said Miss ’Cindy. “The whole 
family are so pleasant-spoken, and so wide-awake, 
so harmonious, too, always on the best terms with 
each other. How they get hold of so many ideas 
in this out-of-the-way place, is a wonder ! ” 

“ Why, they make it an object to read a little of 
the best kind of reading, every day,” said Mary 
Ann. 

“ They seem to be wide awake all over,” said I. 
“ They are what may be called whole people.” 

“ Whole people ! that’s it exactly,” said Miss 
’Cindy. “ I came across a word to-da}^ which just 
suits them : Equa-responsive. They answer back 
at whatever point you touch them. Tr}^ them with 
a pitiful story, or a good joke, or a work of charity, 
or a grand idea, or with anything beautiful among 


1 8 A Talk at the Hartmans. 

God’s works, no matter whether ’tis a flower, or 
the blue sea, or a rainbow, and they always have 
the kind of feeling you want them to have.” 

‘‘ And whole people are not so easy to find,” said 
Mary Ann. ‘‘There’s Mrs. Brown, one of Uncle 
Ben’s summer boarders. I noticed that she re- 
sponded upon subjects that had to do with what 
she called ‘society,’ and those were about all. I 
mean the Mrs. Brown that sat with her back to the 
sunset and counted her stitches.” 

“ There are plenty of people in Bybury,” said I, 
“ who will respond only inside the bounds of their 
every-day work, or every-day tittle-tattle, or the 
receipt book, or — the fashions.” (Yes, fashions, 
even here !) 

And this is true, and these are the very ones who 
say that Allen and Eunice and Miss ’Cindy and 
Mary Ann and some others, are bookworms, and 
are above common things. As to that matter, 
sometimes I think a person has to do considerable 
studying to find out that there’s nothing low or 
common in the humblest of God’s works. For the 
general run of us Bybury folks don’t make much 
account of bumble-bees and millers and creeping 
things, but let a man who has studied into the habits 


A Talk at the Hartmans. 


19 


of these creatures come into the place, and he’ll be 
running after them night and day, and if you won- 
der at his taking so much interest, he’ll tell you 
that the life of a worm is as hard to account for as 
the life of an emperor. 


III. 


GATHERING TOGETHER. 

Friend Solomon: 

I am glad to know that you take an interest in 
our small doings. We call our meetings the By- 
bury Gatherings.” This name suits us better than 
club,” or “ society,” or anything of that sort ; as 
all we mean to do is to come together in a social 
way, for fun, and for profit, and for the sake of 
seeing each other. Even Miss ’Cindy, who is so 
earnest for fun, agreed that the subject for the first 
gathering should hold out promise of pretty nearly 
unmixed profit, as otherwise the serious-minded 
would hold back. She called me in, one day, as I 
was going along the road past Eunice Hartman’s, 
and asked me what I thought of “ Wickliffe ” as 
the first subject. 

“ Allen and I have been thinking,” said Eunice, 
“ that the facts relating to the life and death of 
Wickliffe will give the instruction which, you know, 


20 


Gathering' Together, 


21 


the Yankee mind is always willing and glad to 
get.” 

I asked how they would obtain the facts. Eunice 
said they had a friend in the city who would 
like to search out facts for them in the encyclo- 
paedias, but that, before troubling this friend, she 
should send Susie, her oldest girl, to see what could 
be found in the Hamlenton library. Hamlenton is 
a small town, some six or eight miles from Bybury. 
A neighbor of Eunice’s, — Mrs. Hunt, — who had 
happened to drop in, with her work, looked up in 
astonishment, upon hearing Eunice’s remark. 

‘‘ What ! ” said she ; send Susie all the way to 
Hambleton just to get a book ? Seems to me you 
put yourself out a good deal.” 

This shows how differently different people look 
at things, and how differently they bring up their 
children to look at things. Now Eunice brings up 
her children to think that books and ideas and use- 
ful information are just what they should put them- 
selves out to get ; Mrs. Hunt looks at them as 
being of small importance, and would give them 
only the time not wanted for other matters. You 
will observe that, though not a family man, I take 
notice how families are being brought up. The 
truth is, I am keeping a sort of lookout upon people 


22 


Gathering Together. 


generally, to see who are getting the most — that 
is, the best — out of life. 

You will want to hear about our first gathering. 
It proved a greater success, even, than we had hoped. 
The young people were glad enough to hear a 
plan which would bring them together occasionally. 
The grown-up folks held back at first. They were 
too old, or too busy, or — though they did not say 
this — too solemn, to stir out from their homes for a 
purpose which savored, in the least, of frivolity. But 
human beings, however old, or busy, or solemn, do 
have a natural liking for each other’s society ; and 
this natural liking, together Avith our exceedingly 
proper subject, proved sufficiently “ drawing ” even 
for Mr. Parsbn Chandler and Mrs. Parson, and 
others Avho, like them, are on the very shady side of 
fifty. Most of us Bybury people had ideas, more 
or less, concerning Wickliffe. Some knew that his 
ashes were dug up, and thrown into a brook ; many 
knew that he was connected with the Reformation ; 
and all of us were willing to have our knowledge 
of him put into accurate shape, and more added 
thereunto. 

We met at Mr. Jedediah Johnson’s, his home 
being large and central. Mr. Johnson and his wife 
— Mrs. Elsie — live on a farm. They are hard- 


Gathering Together, 


23 


working people, and have with them two hard- 
working daughters, and a hard-working son, all 
grown up. Indeed, little Jed, as the son is called, 
— or sometimes Jeddy, or Jed, — must have got 
his growth of six feet twenty years ago, at the least 
calculation. Little Jed is one of what my Brother 
Sam calls the ‘‘ snickerin’ ” kind. He has plenty 
of fun aboard; but, unless he’s pretty well ac- 
quainted with the company, he won’t say any- 
thing, but just gets up in a corner, and nudges, 
and grunts, and makes up faces, and chuckles 
without showing that he’s chuckling, and talks in 
undertones. You only know what’s going on by 
the ‘‘ snickerin’ ” in that particular corner. This 
is just the way it was that night of our meeting. 
But then Jeddy ’ll work in well enough by and by ; 
for there’s good stuff in him. The schoolmaster 
was there that night, and two or three people who 
were visiting in the place. Jeddy’s sisters did 
their part well ; and I may say all the young folks 
did well. They had been told to appear lively, but 
not so lively as to cause such people as Mr. Par- 
son and Mrs. Parson to feel out of place. Some of 
the grown-up ones were sociable and pliable ; others 
took their seats in a stiff, conference-meeting sort 
of way, which was rather too long in wearing off. 


24 


Gathering Together. 


While the people were assembling, Miss ’Cindy 
said to me, in an undertone, as she passed by. 
Something else in common, Mr. Mundy,” then 
glanced very mischievously at the looking-glass. 
She was alluding to one of my favorite hobbies ; 
namely, that all classes of people — the young and 
the old, the rich and the poor, the good and the 
bad — have more in common • than is generally 
thought. 

Having my attention thus directed, I was led to 
observe that the elderly women were as anxious 
for the becoming arrangement of their scant locks, 
their bows and their cap-strings, as were the younger 
ones to get the most telling effects from their crimps, 
their ringlets, and their ‘‘ fix-ups,” as Mary Ann 
calls the little ornamental gear of feminine array. 
Mary Ann’s hobby is plainness in dress. Eunice 
doesn’t agree with her ; and this subject may come 
up in our gatherings. 

‘‘ Have you made a note of it ? ” Miss ’Cindy 
asked me, the next time passing. 

O yes ! ” said I. [Mem. One thing which 
women of all ages have in common is that regard 
for personal appearance which some call vanity.] 

“ Why do you confine your ‘ Mem.’ to women ? ” 
asked Eunice Hartman. 


Gathering Together. 


25 


“ Because,” said I, ‘‘ you don’t see the men wait- 
ing for a chance at the glass, and crowding around 
it, and prinking, and tiptoeing, and smootliing their 
neckties.” 

Miss ’Cindy laughed as she turned her snapping 
black eyes towards the kitchen-door. In the porch, 
on a rusty spike, hung and swung an irregularly- 
shaped piece of looking-glass, placed there for the 
benefit of Mr. Johnson and Jeddy, who, when they 
come in from work, sometimes “ prink ” before it 
to the extent of a few dabs with the hair-brush. 
The brush hangs on another spike. That looking- 
glass answers its purpose tolerably well, consider- 
ing its liking to turn round on its string, and 
that the quicksilver is missing in spots ; for both 
these objections can be overcome by practice in 
dodging. 

Following the direction of Miss ’ Cindy’s sly 
glance, I noticed that almost every one of the 
young fellows, before coming in, cast a quick look 
around, to see if he were observed, then, with some 
secrecy, drew forth a pocket-comb, stepped towards 
the hanging glass, touched up his hair. Ins mustache, 
his whiskers, and surveyed himself, with anxiety, 
or with satisfaction, according to the nature of the 


case. 


26 


Gathering Together. 


“ Very well,” said I ; “ I will insert ‘ and young 
men.’ ” 

“ You may as well say ‘ all people,’ ” she replied. 
“ There’s Cap’n Zach, nigh upon sixty. Cap’n Zach, 
as you may see if you look, is not going to present 
himself until he is satisfied that his bald place is 
covered, and covered decently. There’s nothing 
out of the way in this ; it is the duty of all to look 
as well as they can ; only please arrange your 
‘Mem.’ so as to give your own sex its share of 
personal vanity.” 

“ Still,” said I, “ you must allow that, generally 
speaking, men do not look in the looking-glass as 
often as women. It is not so much an article of 
necessity to them.” 

“ Because,” said Miss ’Cindy, “ men have no rib- 
bons, laces, and other flying, frisky, fluttering things 
to attend to ; no crimps, curls, and braids to keep 
in place. Men’s attire is not easily disarranged. 
It has fixedness. It is a sort of outside case, which 
takes him in, and shuts him up ; and there he is, 
good for all day.” 

While we were talking, Mary Ann came up. 

“Mrs. Lem Hunt and Mrs. Joshua Hunt are 
quite sociable together,” said she. 

“ And why not ? ” asked Eunice. 


Gathering Together, 


27 


Why, quite a while ago,” said Mary Ann, 
“ Sarah Luce — a mischief and dressmaker — told 
Mrs. Joshua that Mrs. Lem said that Mr. Joshua 
was a well-meaning man, but would never set the 
great pond afire ; and Mrs. Joshua has had feelings 
towards Mrs. Lem ever since.” 

“ But what are they talking about so fast ? ” 
asked Eunice. 

‘‘ Oh ! about their children,” said - Mary Ann. 
“ Mrs. Joshua is telling what her little Joshua can 
do, and Mrs. Lem is telling what her little Lem 
can do.” 

“ Common ground again, Mr. Mundy,” said Miss 
’Cindy. 

“ Exactly,” said I ; and quite likely Mrs. Joshua 
will feel more friendly toward Mrs. Lem for meet- 
ing on that common ground.” 

‘‘ And, feeling more friendly,” said Mary Ann, 
she may think of the affront somewhat after this 
fashion: ‘To be sure, Mr. Joshua is a moderate 
sort of man ; and perhaps he can’t set the great 
pond afire. If he can’t, Mrs. Lem told the truth. 
If he can, Mrs. Lem’s saying he can’t won’t hinder 
him from doing it; and, if worst comes to worst, 
and I should have to choose between the two, I’d 
sooner have him well-meaning than to have him 


28 


Gathering Together, 


set the great pond afire. And likely as not Mrs. 
Lem never made that speech out of her own head. 
Likely as not Sarah Luce asked her if she thought 
Mr. Joshua would ever set the great pond afire, 
and she said no.’ ” 

Do you think,” asked Eunice, that one person 
can ever really injure another person? I don’t 
mean in the way of reputation, or fortune, or en- 
joyment ; I mean injure the person himself.” 

Why, no,” said Miss ’Cindy ; of course not. 
A man is what he is. Saying that he is thus and 
so does not make him either thus or so.” 

Mary Ann is firm in the faith that bringing 
us often together is going to prevent unfriendly 
feelings, and quench gossip. 


IV. 


DO YOU BELIEVE IN LUCK? 

Friend Solomon: 

Do you believe in luck? We had quite a dis- 
cussion on the subject last evening. Some of the 
company were speaking of a relative of Mrs. Jones’s, 
one Hannah Bryant, who moved from Bybury 
Centre some fifteen years ago. She is a city lady 
now, keeps her carriage, lives in style, has a son in 
college, and her daughters have the best of every- 
thing, so Eunice told us. Mrs. Chandler remarked 
that it was wonderful what luck that woman had, 
and others present expressed similar sentiments. 
Presently Miss ’Cindy spoke up and asked this 
question, — 

Was it luck that did it ? ” 

‘‘I had that same thought myself,” said Mrs. 
Jones; ‘‘for I was looking back and bringing to 
mind just how Hannah Bryant began. She and 
Lucy Ann Hall were left widows at just about the 


29 


30 


Do You Believe in Luckf 


same time, and both in poor circumstances. The 
neighbors helped them, but helped Lucy Ann more, 
because her children always looked so poverty- 
stricken. Lucy Ann depended on the neighbors, 
and if one of the children lacked a garment, waited 
till the garment came. You didn’t catch Hannah 
Bryant doing that. She had more ambition. Lucy 
Ann took in sewing, and Hannah took in sewing. 
One day Hannah said to me, ‘ I shall never be able 
to bring up my children and keep my family to- 
gether in this way. I must try something else.’ 
And what do you think she did ? She made up six 
shirts in the very best manner, borrowed money for 
travelling expenses — she had a first-rate character 
for honesty — carried those shirts to the city, and 
sold them to a man who dealt in gentlemen’s wear. 
He wanted more. She found out from him what 
was the common price for making one shirt, and at 
what rate he would pay a person who would take 
them out by the quantity — that is, take the materi- 
als — and guarantee that they would be well made. 
Of course there was profit in this business, and right 
enough, for there was responsibility. She got a 
recommendation of character from the selectmen 
and the minister, and the shirt-dealer sent her cloth 
for a few dozen shirts. There were women enough 


Do You Believe in Luck? 


31 


glad to make them, though this was before the days 
of sewing machines. Her business increased. She 
moved from Bybury Centre to Overton, and finally 
moved into the city. She is a partner, now, in 
a large gentlemen’s furnishing establishment, has 
money in banks, bonds, stocks, and nobody knows 
where.” 

And how about Lucy Ann ? ” some one asked. 

‘‘Lucy Ann,” said Mrs. Jones, “just mulled 
along, as you may say, earned about half a living 
and depended on charity for the other half. Her 
children were taken out of school as soon as they 
were big enough to earn anything, and put here 
and there, according as places could be found. 
They are all poor ; and so is Lucy Ann.” 

“ They may take just as much comfort as the 
Bryant folks,” said Mrs. Chandler, after a pause in 
the conversation. 

“Of course they may,” said Allen Hartman, 
“but that is not our question. Our question is, 
Was Hannah Bryant’s success owing to luck? ” 

“I suppose,” said Eunice, “that by luck we 
mean something outside of ourselves. Now how 
was it with Mrs. Bryant? In the first place, there 
was the ambition to keep her family together and 
to give them advantages. Then, the energy wliich 


32 


Do You Believe in Lnckf 


led her to strike out a path for herself. There 
must have been nice sewing on those gussets and 
bands and seams, and button-holes, or the shirt- 
dealer wouldn’t have liked her work. The shirts 
afterwards sent in must have been well made 
and promptly forwarded, or he would not have let 
her go on. To get such quantities of work done 
well in every little particular required great care 
and watchfulness, not to mention the labor of car- 
rying on such a business* Just the shapes of the 
button-holes, or the stitches round their edges, 
might have stopped her career in the very begin- 
ning.” 

“ Let us make a count of her qualifications,” said 
Miss Hunt, ‘‘ as given thus far. Ambition, energy, 
honesty, skill, determination, industry, promptness, 
faithfulness in details, perseverance — there’s no 
need of going outside of Hannah Bryant to account 
for Hannah Bryant’s success.” 

Mr. Johnson said, “that for his part he had al- 
ways noticed that people went up just as high as 
the power inside of them would take them.” 

“Yes,” said Miss Hunt, “as a general thing we 
make our own fortunes. Each one carves for him- 
self, or for herself, his or her own niche to stand 
in. I can see how my scholars make places for 


33 


4 

Do You Believe in Liickf 

themselves in the estimation of the school, some by 
their good-heartedness, some by their brightness, 
some by their truth, some by their untruth, some 
by their meanness, some by their jollity, and so on.” 

“ I knew a young man,” said Allen, ‘‘ who went 
into a large dry-goods store, and in a very short 
time was made head salesman. Some people said, 

‘ What a lucky fellow ! ’ One day I was speaking 
of this to the proprietors. They said luck had 
notliing to do with liis case, but that he had in 
him exactly the qualities which make a first-rate 
salesman. Take notice that they said ‘ in him.’ 
Business being dull, several of the clerks had been 
dismissed. One of them — I’ll call him Ben — was 
a particular friend of mine ; an honest, steady fel- 
low. 

I asked one of the proprietors how they hap- 
pened to select him to send away. ‘ Oh,’ said he, 
‘ there’s no happening in these matters any more 
than there is luck. In ordinary times we should 
have kept Ben, but in times like these we keep the 
ones who are the most valuable to us. Ben did all 
that was strictly required of liim, but nothing more. 
He never exerted himself for the interests of the 
firm, and he was particular not to work over hours. 
As we can’t keep all, we spare those who can best 


34 


Do You Believe in Ltickf 


be spared. There are some we can’t afford to keep, 
and some we can’t afford to let go.’ He said he 
supposed it would be just the same in a milliner’s 
or a dressmaker’s establishment. In dull times the 
best workers would be surest of staying. ‘You 
know how it is aboard ship in a gale ; ’ said he, ‘ the 
least necessary articles are thrown over.’ People 
talk about luck. I don’t believe in it.” 

Mr. Johnson remarked, here, that he knew two 
men who started in life as lawyers. “ One of ’em,” 
said he, “ was always on hand. If he promised to 
meet a man, he did meet him, and at the exact time 
set; and when he had a case in court, he threw 
himself into it, body and soul. He stands A num- 
ber one, and makes money hand over fist. The 
other one could never be depended upon. He 
pleased himself, let who would be waiting, and now 
— he’s just about where he was at the beginning ; 
but ’twould take pretty sharp eyesight to see any 
luck in the matter.” 

“ Eunice and I were saying the other day,” said 
Allen, “ that whoever has a good article finds a 
market for it. A pedler came to our house with 
extra nice butter. We had butter enough, but 
bought some of his because it was extra nice. The 
people in the next house did the same, and for the 


Do You Believe in Litck f 


35 


same reason. Generally speaking, it is just so with 
other things. If a painter has a first-rate picture, 
he can sell it. If a writer has a first-rate poem or 
essay or story, some publisher will want it. If a 
carpenter is a first-rate workman, he’ll find work 
plenty. If a professor excels in mathematics or 
chemistry or philosophy or any other science, some 
college will be in a hurry to get hold of him. If a 
man has business talent, and good judgment, and 
a reputation for uprightness, mercantile establish- 
ments will overbid each other to secure him. If a 
young man has ability, energy, integrity, activity, 
and industry, some business firm, or some other 
master-workman, will pay for his services.” 

“ I know a city dressmaker,” said Miss ’Cindy, 
‘‘who is a disagreeable person and charges mon- 
strous prices, but she makes splendid fits, and gets 
a good deal done, and so everybody wants her. 
And I heard of a cook, once, who was worth her 
weight in gold. Seventeen families were trying to 
get her ! ” 

“ Of course,” said Eunice, “ we find exceptions, 
rare exceptions ; there are backflaws, and there are 
disappointments, and so forth, but, as a general 
tiling, I agree with Mr. Jolmson, that people go up 


36 


Do You Believe iu Luck ? 


just as high as the power inside of them will carry 
them.” 

“And I agree with you and Allen,” said Miss 
Hunt, “that a good article is sure to be needed. 
It may be a button, or it may be a poem, or it 
may be skill, or it may be character.” 


V. 


I CAKISrOT DIG. 

Frieot) Solomon: 

Our schoolteacher, Miss Hunt, having been 
asked to read something at one of our gatherings, 
brought a paper of which I enclose a copy. Per- 
haps you may like to look it over. 

MISS HUNT’S PAPER. 

Dear friends, you will find the text of my 
discourse in the sixteenth chapter of Luke, third 
verse : “ I cannot dig.” I think that if a per- 
son can say with truth, ‘‘ I cannot dig,” he 
settles his own case with few words. In pro- 
nouncing this short sentence against himself, he 
fixes his position at the foot of the ladder, and 
shows reason why he will always remain there. 
I know that when my oldest brother was in the 
doldrums,” — that is, when he was trying to 
choose an occupation, and was drifting this way 


37 


38 


/ Cannot Dig, 


and that, with no special wind to blow him in any 
special direction, — Grandfather Hunt said to him : 

Josey, my boy, it doesn’t make much difference 
which one you pitch upon; the difference is in 
taking hold. You’ll never get on in any kind of 
business without you put dig into it.” Grand- 
father spoke the words with a strong emphasis, and 
though I was young at the time, they impressed 
me. Perhaps you will pardon an allusion to 
myself, and let me say that as I grew older I felt 
an earnest desire to become a teacher. My father 
could not then furnish me with the means of pre- 
paring myself. Remembering my grandfather’s 
words, I put dig into it ” ; earned enough to pay 
for part of the necessary preparation, and then, by 
putting more dig into it, made up the rest by home- 
study, and I am still digging. It is because grand- 
father’s advice has been useful to me all my life, 
that, homely as it is, I wished to repeat it here. I 
have taken some pains to find out the truth of it. 
In some cases of great success I had opportunities 
of looking behind the curtain, and invariably found 
there hard work, and plenty of it. 

One case was that of a man who moved into a 
large town, and there started a business by which 
he accumulated a fortune. An inquiry into his 


I 


/ Cannot Dig. 39 

case showed in the beginning poverty, family 
troubles, struggles with competitors, discourage- 
ments, and blackflaws of various kinds ; but 
through all these were shown industry, persistency, 
faitlifulness, promptness, altogether making what 
my grandfather would have called dig.” 

A friend of mine, with a high reputation for 
teaching several important branches, has been 
recently chosen professor in a flourishing college. 
She acquired her reputation by years of persistent, 
well-directed effort, and, even now, digs ” outside 
of school-hours. That there is plenty of this to do 
within those hours, every faithful teacher will bear 
witness. Another friend of mine is at the head of 
a prosperous dressmaking establishment. Look 
, back a few years, and you will see that her success 
is the result of hard work and close attention to 
details. As was said the other night of Mrs. 
Bryant, things so small even as button-holes, or 
the stitches in a seam, might have hindered that 
success. And, by the way, Mrs. Bryant was a case 
in which may be seen the true article, the genuine 
dig. And there are other women like unto her, — 
“ bee ” women, small fruits ” women, literary 
women, scientific women, farming women, flower- 
raising women; all working for what they get. 


40 


/ Cannot Dig. 


I am acquainted with a gentleman who writes 
remarkably pleasing short shories; stories which 
read a^ if they were no work at all, but were 
written at a sitting of one evening. I asked him 
if this were so. He laughed, and replied: “I 
shouldn’t like to have it told of, but I allow about 
a month a story. That ‘no work’ appearance 
which you speak of is brought about by work.” 

A preacher who would interest an audience 
must put thought — that is, mental labor — into 
his sermons. He must be closely observant of 
human affairs, in order to draw from them moral 
lessons for his hearers ; and he must do real hard 
mind-work in order to present those lessons in 
forcible language. Then the lawyers. Did you 
ever see a lawyer poring night and day over 
pages of legal lore, searching, combining, arrang- 
ing, wearing himself out physically, and using 
every faculty of mind to make a forcible argu- 
ment? For his client, a fortune, or even a life, 
may hang upon this man’s capacity to stand hard 
work ; for loimself, his professional reputation and 
his success in life. 

A first-class musical performer sweeps her hands 
across the keys, and, seemingly without an effort, 
brings forth sounds which stir your soul within 


/ Carmot Dig. 


41 


you. This wonderful power is no mystery to 
those who know that for years she has spent four, 
six, eight, and even more hours a day in the 
drudgery of ‘‘practicing.” 

Dickens said that if he had done anything 
worthy of commendation it was by persevering 
labor. Carlyle defines genius as “a transcendent 
painstaking.” When Mr. Everett was compli- 
mented on the beauty, weight, conciseness, and 
finish of a sentence in one of his orations, he 
replied that the sentence spoken of cost him seven 
hours’ labor. It is said that Buffon rewrote his 
voluminous work on Natural History seventeen 
times before he thought it fit for publication. 
When Sir Joshua Reynolds was asked how long it 
took him to paint a certain picture, he said, “ All 
my life.” And, if we had time to speak of them, 
there are all the inventors and discoverers, with 
their separate records of toil and discouragement 
and persistency. Indeed, I am sure that if we 
look behind any case of remarkable success we 
shall find there dig of the hardest kind. We can 
not get sometliing for nothing. 

It may be urged that there are cases in which 
something is got for nothing, as, for instance, 
when a large property is received as a direct gift. 


42 


/ Cannot Dig. 

Let us consider this. In the first place, the mere 
fact that a man receives, say a hundred thousand 
dollars, does not make that man a success. Suppose 
he keeps his dollars by him and occupies himself 
with looking at them. This would not make him a 
success. Neither would it do so if he spent them 
in sensual gratifications and tasteless magnificence. 
The moment he begins to use his money worthily 
and intelligently, labor begins. For, even though 
he crowd his mansion with pictures and other 
works of art; with books, scholarly, scientific, 
aesthetic ; still the man himself will not be a suc- 
cess unless the man himself has the learning and 
the culture to appreciate these, and learning and 
culture require labor. If he invest his money in 
business, that certainly demands labor. If he 
would dispose of it in charity why, this, if intelli- 
gently done, involves the labor of inquiry into 
social problems, of searching out the worthiest 
objects of that charity, and of the watching to 
see if it works satisfactorily. To be sure he may 
hand in the money directly to some benevolent 
institution, but in this case there would be no rea- 
son for calling the man a success, as he would 
merely have had another person’s money in his 
keeping for a short time — like a contribution box. 


/ Cannot Dig. 


43 


The sons and daughters of wealthy families may 
live easy lives, but not one of those lives can be 
considered a success unless by it is accomplished 
something of value, and this something of value 
cannot be accomplished without individual effort. 

Yes, it must come always to this at last — indi- 
vidual effort. One person cannot make another 
person’s success. We must all dig for ourselves, 
and nobody else can do it for us, and those who 
‘‘cannot dig” will be failures. Every year thou- 
sands of young persons begin the study of music, 
of drawing, or of some one of the various branches 
of knowledge ; every year thousands of young 
persons, more especially young men, choose some 
employment with which to start themselves in life. 
Comparatively few of this youthful host meet with 
any marked degree of success. Yet probably not 
one of those w^ho fail, if asked the reason of his or 
her non-success, would give the true reason, and 
say,— 

“ It was because I cannot dig.” 

It seems to me, that, as I suggested at the begin- 
ning, the individuals of whom this confession is 
true, whether workers of high or of low degree ; 
business characters, day laborers, artists, writers, 
scholars, housekeepers, seamstresses — no matter 


44 


I Cannot Dig, 


what — may one and all resign themselves to me- 
diocrity, if not to utter failure. For it is just as 
my grandfather said, ‘‘You’ll never get on in 
any kind of business without you put dig into 
it.” 


VI. 


AUNT SYLYIE’S LETTER. 


Friend S. : 

We turned one of our gatherings into a dona- 
tion party for Aunt Sylvie Peckham. Her two 
rooms were crowded with people, young and old, 
and all of these people were in that happy state of 
good humor which, as Eunice Hartman remarked, 
always seems to come from the making over of 
one’s belongings to a person in need of them. It 
was a truly interesting occasion. Everybody said 
funny things, everybody laughed, and everybody 
almost cried to see Aunt Sylvie so much overcome 
by her emotion. The poor old woman has rheu- 
matism in her hands, and could scarcely wipe the 
tears from her eyes. Jed unpacked the things. 
He reached, with his long arms, into this corner, 
and that corner, bringing up packages, baskets, 
jugs, — always getting off some kind of joke, so 


45 


46 


Aunt Sylvie s Letter. 


as to make Aunt Sylvie laugh. Time was when 
the Widow Peckham could herself assist the poor, 
for her husband, in his prime, was one of the fore- 
most men in the town where they then lived. But 
that was a great many years ago. 

The donation party was the means of our getting 
a letter to read at our next gathering. Aunt Sylvie, 
in talking with Aunt Nabby Pryor about the kind- 
ness of the neighbors, expressed her heartfelt 
gratitude, and likewise her regret that there was 
nothing she could do in return. 

Now a day or two previous Aunt Sylvie, with 
Aunt Nabby ’s help as scribe, had nearly finished a 
long letter to her grand-nephew Samuel, named for 
her husband. When she was speaking of her 
regret at being unable to do anything for the 
neighbors. Aunt Nabby said to her: 

‘‘Do let me read this letter, or a part of it, at 
one of our sociable meetings. ’Tis a beautiful 
letter, and ’twill be very edifying for our young 
folks to hear.” 

The matrimonial advice contained in the letter 
occasioned a lively discussion. Aunt Sylvie, when 
told of this, seemed quite pleased to think she 
had furnished us with the means of an evening’s 
entertainment. 


Atuit Sylvie s Letter. 


47 


A PORTION OF AUNT SYLVIE’S LETTER. 

. . . Every time I try to write a letter, I 

tliink to myself, Maybe tliis will be the last letter 
I shall ever write to him.” And then I think, If 
it should be, what can I say to Samuel, as my last 
words?” For it is possible that we two shall 
never meet again in this world. I am just ready 
to lay off this earthly body, and now, when I look 
back through so many years, there are only two 
tilings that seem of much account. Truth and 
Affection. It does not seem any matter to me, 
now that my husband, your Uncle Samuel — you 
never saw your Uncle Samuel he died before- you 
can remember. He was a beautiful man — one of 
God’s good men ; he did not live to be very old. 
You could not understand, if I should tell you, 
how much I have missed him since he died, for it 
has seemed as if only just a part of me kept on 
staying here, he was such a man to lean upon ; 
and I did not feel like anybody, myself — I was 
going to say that it does not seem any matter to 
me now — though it was a blow at the time — 
that your uncle lost so much by signing for Nathan 
Alden and Mr. Armstrong, or that some folks used 
to try to run him down. It was only because he 
was strict in liis dealings, and upright, and would 


48 


Aunt Sylvie s Letter. 


not swerve, or connive ; but it fretted me, then. 
And it worried me very much that all through his 
last years he would not afford himself a new 
broadcloth coat, though he stood in need of it 
greatly. “ One more brush, Sylvie,” he would say, 
in his pleasant tone. And I sponged it in log- 
wood tea, and brushed it till it was very nigh 
threadbare. 

You see that I am not fit to write a letter, my 
mind wanders so ; and I have not said what I 
meant to. I started to say that all these matters I 
have been mentioning seem trifling now. They all 
fall away, and leave nothing but his loving kind- 
ness standing clear and bright. If he had been a 
cheat, should I be longing so to meet him soon ? 
Or if he had been cold and hard ? But he was very 
tender-hearted ; and, O, Samuel ! believe an old 
woman, that there is nothing in the world of so 
much value as Truth and Affection. 

And when I think of what a blessed companion 
he was to me, the reflection comes into my mind 
that, in the course of nature, you will soon think of 
choosing a companion. It is a great thing to choose 
a companion, meaning to pass your whole life 
with her. Don’t choose for good looks altogether, 
Samuel, though I can’t blame you if you don’t 


Aunt Sylvie s Letter. 


49 


feel like taking up with a very homely girl. Still, 
a homely girl is more likely to be humble-minded, 
and a handsome one is more likely to be proud and 
high-strung, and think too much of vain show and 
adornments. When anybody has to live with any- 
body day after day, year in and year out, temper is 
more to be thought of than good looks. See first 
how a girl behaves at home. 

“ And pray be shy of a di'essy girl, for if she 
spends her thoughts and her time mostly on dress, 
she won’t have many thoughts nor much time to 
spend on you, or on liigher subjects. Still, I 
shouldn’t want you to marry a dowdy, for then 
she wouldn’t keep her family looking fit to be seen. 
A neat, orderly, care-taking person is a great benefit 
to a family ; but I should not want one of the kind 
that are too strict, and that make a man take off his 
shoes on the doorstep, and go in in his stocking 
feet, for they make you uncomfortable. There’s a 
difference between staring and stark blind. 

And pray don’t demean yourself to marry a 
girl for her money. That would put you where 
you would always feel beholden to your wife ; 
though it is not a tiling impossible that a rich girl 
might have an affection for a poor j^oung man. 
And that would alter the case, for money, or the 


50 


Aunt Sylvie s Letter, 


lack of money, should not stand in the way of true 
affection ; and I don’t say but that in such case it 
would be a convenience for a young man to have 
some capital to start with, — if he did not get 
married to the girl on purpose to get it, — and she 
might possibly think so much of him that her riches 
would seem but as an empty bubble when set against 
his affection. In such a case, you would have to 
use your judgment. I think that in no case a 
young woman should consider herself as being 
ready to be married until she has a reasonable 
quantity of cotton cloth made up, and plenty of 
bedquilts. 

As to learning, I don’t exactly know how to advise 
you. A man does not like to feel that his wife knows 
the most; and if it happens that she does know 
the most, she ought to know enough to keep it to 
herself ; for a man never likes to look up to a 
woman, neither does he want her too ignorant to 
be any company for him, and to be a good manager. 
I think you will have to use your judgment in this 
case, too. I suppose there is such a thing as hitting 
just right, but old ’Squire Spinner used to say’t 
was hard to find a woman that knew just enough, 
and not too much. You see, a woman has to be 
considerable knowing to make her husband com- 


Aunt Sylvie s Letter. 


SI 

fortable, but when she’s too knowing she’s apt 
to make him uncomfortable, without she’s pretty 
shrewd and sensible. I tliink you will be the most 
• likely to take comfort with that kind of a wife who 
will give way to her husband when they two are 
contrary minded. 

’Tis a great thing to have a wife that knows 
how to be saving. ’Tis no use for the man to 
grub and scrub along, if the woman wastes as fast 
as he earns. You need a wiie that will mend a 
hole when it first comes, and not wait till it’s too 
big to ; and that knows how to use up odds and 
ends, and will stay in the house and attend to her 
work. 

So you see it makes a great deal of difference 
what kind of a companion a man chooses, for she 
will have a great effect upon him for better or for 
worse. If you can find one that is good-disposi- 
tioned, and sensible, and moderately good-looking, 
and not too set, and who has enough, say, to get a 
few things together to go to housekeeping with, 
why, there’s considerable chance of your taking com- 
fort together. Her religious views must be thought 
of ; though, as a general thing, a wife leaves her 
own meeting, and goes with her husband. 

But, after all, love will go where ’tis sent ; and 


52 


Aunt Sylvie s Letter. 


if it should happen in your case to be sent to the 
wrong one, and your wife turns out a thorn in 
your side, why, get along with it as well as you 
can, for it may be that you need a trial to your 
patience. And, above all things, make your own 
self what you ought to be, and don’t hurt her feel- 
ings. 

And one thing more. It is the crudest thing 
in the world for a young man to keep company 
with a girl till she likes him too well ever to hke 
another, and then leave her. I’ve seen girls sicken 
and die in such cases. Remember this, and don’t 
forget it. . . . 

In my next I will w^rite you about the discussion 
which was called up by some things in this letter. 


VII. 


IS IT ANY DAMAGE TO A GIRL 
TO BE PRETTY? — A LETTER FROM; IVIARY ANN. 

My dear Eunice: 

Allen says he wrote you the heads of Aunt 
Sylvie’s letter, but, writing in a hurry, could not 
give the conversation. I was sorry you had to go 
away. However, shopping and visiting are both 
among the necessaries of life, taking life in a broad 
sense. 

In the letter Aunt Sylvie warned Samuel against 
marrying a pretty girl. One of the company 
raised the question, — 

“ Is it a damage to a girl, her being pretty ? ’’ 
Afterwards the question was changed to, — 

‘‘ Must it be a damage to a girl to be pretty ? ” 
One answer was, — 

“ No ; not if she has common sense.” 

Then Allen asked, — 

‘‘ What is it to have common sense ? ” 


53 


54 it any Damage to a Girl to be Pretty? 


Everybody seemed ready to answer, but nobody 
seemed to know just what to say. At last Jed 
spoke up and said, — 

“ I know what it is not to have common sense.” 

This turned the laugh on Jed, and the young 
fellow next him asked him if he knew by experience. 

‘‘ Yes,” said Jed ; ‘‘ from other folks’ experience ! 
Not to have common sense is to be lobsided.” 

“ That is,” said Allen, ‘‘ too much of the weight 
is on one side. I think you are right. If a team- 
ster should place his load so that the weight came 
mostly on one side, you’d say he lacked common 
sense. If a minister should preach the same idea 
every Sunday, and no other one, you’d say he 
lacked common sense. If Mr. Johnson, depending 
on his farm for his vegetables, should plant it all 
over with peas, you’d say he lacked common sense. 
If Mrs. Johnson, with ironing to do, and three or 
four hungry men coming to dinner, should iron 
till the hungry* men came in sight, you’d say she 
lacked common sense. If a person having only 
twenty-five dollars in the world, should spend 
twenty for a ring, you’d say he lacked common 
sense.” 

‘‘ But how does all this apply to the pretty girl ? ” 
some one asked. 


Is it any Damage to a Girl to be Pretty? 55 


“ In this way,” said Allen. ‘‘ When a girl con- 
siders her pretty face of such importance that she 
allows her thoughts to dwell continually on that, 
and finds her highest gratification in making that 
attractive, and expects to please chiefly by that, 
and seems never to think of improving her mind, 
or that she has a work to do in the world, why, 
then we may say she lacks common sense. The 
weight of her load comes mostly on one side, and 
that the weakened side. In all these cases we see 
what Jed calls lobsidedness. A person of common 
sense keeps himself and his affairs well-balanced.” 

“ And looks ahead to see how he is coming out,” 
said Sister ’Cindy. ‘‘ Just try my definition,” she 
continued, on your example. The teamster would 
need to look ahead and see how far his load would 
be likely to go without capsizing. The minister 
would need to look ahead, and see if his hearers 
would continue to hear him. Mr. Johnson would 
need to look ahead, and see if his family were 
going to live on peas all winter. Mrs. Johnson 
would need to look ahead, and see if her hungry 
men would be satisfied to sit down to an ironing- 
table. The man with the ring would need to look 
ahead to see where his board and clothes were 
coming from. The pretty girl must look ahead. 


$6 Is it any Damage to a Girl to be Pretty ? 

and see that her life will be a failure if she takes 
no pains to cultivate her mind, and does no earnest 
work in the world.” 

Much more was said on the subject, and we all 
came to the conclusion that a pretty girl might 
have common sense, and that it need not be a 
damage to a girl, her being pretty. 

But, as a general thing,” said Miss Luce, a 
homely girl stands a better chance of being sensi- 
ble than one of the other kind ; for she naturally 
says to herself that, if she can’t look well, she can 
do well, and study well, and make the most of her- 
self in such ways.” 

Mrs. Johnson remarked that homely girls were 
likely to think all the more of good looks, for the 
very reason that they could not be good-looking 
themselves. Besides,” said she, “ they are very 
often envious of the pretty ones ; and envy is as 
bad as vanity.” 

‘‘ And it is said,” added Mr. Johnson, that a 
homely girl spites the pretty ones, and feels re- 
joiced when they begin to ‘ fade.’ ” 

‘‘ I don’t believe a word of it ! ” cried Sister 
’Cindy. ’Tis a libel on homely women to say 
they do not take pleasure in looking at a hand- 
some face.” 


Is it any Damage to a Girl to be Pretty I 57 


Jed proposed that, to decide the matter, all the 
pretty girls in the room should stand up, and tell 
their feelings, and then let the homely ones do the 
same. 

Mr. Parson Chandler said he was afraid that 
every girl would stand up the first time. 

Why not try the experiment with the young 
men?” suggested Miss Luce. ‘‘IVe seen a good 
deal of human nature, feminine and masculine; 
and it is my belief that you find pride in personal 
appearance on both sides.” 

Then the question was started, — 

‘‘ Is it not right to have a regard for personal 
appearance, and for such outward matters as dress, 
manners, language ? ” 

Mrs. Parson Chandler said she considered these 
but trifling matters. She thought we ought to 
make sure that the heart is right, and not pay 
much attention to looks. Life is short. On our 
death-beds we should not be thinking about our 
looks. This world was only a preparation for 
another. 

Mrs. Johnson said there was a time for all 
things. It was our duty to occupy our minds 
with very many subjects which would not interest 
us on our death-beds. She was not sure that this 


• S8 Is it any Damage to a Girl to be Pretty? 


life was only a preparation for another. The 
greater part of Christ’s teachings had reference to 
this world and this present life.> “ Love one an- 
other.” “ Do good, hoping for nothing again.” 
‘‘ Love your enemies.” Forgive unto seventy 
times seven.” And the song of the angels at His 
birth was Peace on earth. Good will among 
men.” 

Allen thought we ought to take an interest in 
the things of this world and this life for their own 
sakes, especially things in nature. The blue sky, 
the green fields, flowers, sunsets, running waters, 
— all these call up within us feelings of pleasure. 
They are fitted to us, and we to them, by our and 
their Creator. 

Then there is music,” said he. ‘AVe are so 
made that we cannot help enjoying music ; and we 
may almost say that the whole human race is so 
made as to enjoy moving to the sound of music. 
Nearly all the nations and tribes we ever heard of 
have had their dances and their marches. I think 
it is right to take pleasure in these things, and in 
all other as harmless amusements. I consider 
amusements as among the necessaries of life, — 
that is, of a satisfactory, rounded-out life. With- 
out them we grow cold and hard.” 


Is it any Damage to a Girl to be Pretty? 59 


‘‘And as for our outward appearance,” said Sis- 
ter 'Cindy, “ I think we ought to look as well as 
ever we can; and by ‘we’ I mean everybody. 
Why, Nature herself gives us the hint. She tries 
to look well. She comes out in pretty colors, and 
dresses herself with flowers. Even her mud- 
puddles have handsome pictures in them. Tliink 
of an apple-tree in bloom! Think of a rosebush 
of roses! You’ll find some pains taken with looks 
there ! ” 

Miss Hitty Hosmer, an out-of-town cousin of 
Miss Luce’s, remarked that it was not given to 
human beings to be as simple and unconscious as 
a rosebush. 

“ But it is given them to be sensible — if they 
will be,” said Miss Luce. 

“ In these matters,” said Allen, “ we shall have 
to follow Aunt Sylvie’s advice to Samuel, and use 
our judgment in deciding how much attention to 
give to the inward and how much to the outward 
adornment. We must keep up the balance, and 
not become lobsided, you know.” 

“ And we must use our consciences,” said Sister 
’Cindy. “You know we agreed that religion 
should be carried into the smallest details of life. 
I believe there ’s a right and wrong in these 


6o Is it any Damage to a Girl to be Pretty ? 


matters we’ve been speaking of, just as much as 
there is in praying and not praying; in going to 
meeting and not going to meeting. It is right to 
pray; but it would be wrong to spend the most 
of our time in making prayers. And a person 
may sin as much in going to meeting as a • vain 
girl would in curling her hair, or even in painting 
her face.” 

Some one asked, — 

“ How can anybody sin in going to meeting ? ” 

“Why, it is generally understood,” said Allen, 
“ that we go to meeting Sundays for our spiritual 
good. Now, when people go because it is respect- 
able to do so, or in order to stand better in their 
business relations, or to see, and be seen, or 
because they will be talked about if they stay at 
home, — then they are hypocrites ; and hypocrisy 
is as bad as vanity, and as bad in one place as 
another.” 

I have given you only a small part of the con- 
versation, but the untold shall be told you on your 
return. You know how it has been with us here. 
You know that ever since we first discussed Wick- 
liffe’s preachings there has been much talk — both 
at our gatherings, and elsewhere — concerning his 
idea of the religion of a good life as being far ex- 


Is it any Damage to a Girl to be Pretty? 6i 

alted above a religion of belief and observances. 
There seems to be a general waking up to this- 
idea, — a sort of revival of goodness, so to speak. 
We feel, more strongly than ever before, that the 
religion which does not influence our daily lives is 
no true religion. 

Mr. Johnson thinks, and so do I, that the effect 
of this waking up can be plainly seen. It can be 
seen in the changed manner with which we listen 
to words spoken against our neighbors ; in a more 
earnest sympathy with those who are in trouble ; 
in our readiness to help the helpless; in a more 
abundant charity toward one another’s faults ; 
more patience with weaknesses; greater forbear- 
ance where opinions differ. It cannot be all our 
own fancy that there is an increased willingness in 
certain miserly characters to part with money for 
a worthy cause ; a stricter honesty in certain quar- 
ters, where honesty had been lacking ; also, more 
appreciation in families of the labors and anxieties 
of the different members, and more good humor 
one toward another, even the tone of voice with 
which mothers reprove their children, has, we tliink, 
a gentler sound. 

’Cindy calls, and I end abruptly. 


VIII. 


\ 


COMPANY COMING. — A LETTER READ AT ONE OF 
THE BYBURY GATHERINGS. 

My dear Niece Becky: 

What would you say if I were to write that I 
accept your invitation, and am coming by and by to 
pass some few days with you ? Alas ! my prophetic 
soul — assisted by my past experience — tells me 
that you will say, for one thing, Now we will 
have to get ready for company.” Let me beg, 
entreat, implore, that you will not get ready for 
me. I know too well what this process means. 
It means pillow-shams, and furniture set back. It 
means richness in cooking. It means fatigue on 
your part, and, also, loss of your society on mine ; 
for this “ getting ready ” usually continues so long 
as the company continues. 

Shall not company have a voice in what so fear- 
fully concerns it ? Is the well-being of visitors to 
be forever sacrificed to the false pride and vanity 


62 


Company Coming. 


63 


of the visited ? For these motives are at the bottom 
of the matter. They are not always the only ones ; 
we must make some allowance for hospitality, and 
a desire to please. But false pride, vanity, and am- 
bition to be thought to set a good table, are among 
the actuating motives. It often happens that the 
women of a family have each a reputation as cook. 
“Mother” is a champion pie-maker; Nancy never 
fails in having good cake ; Ella’s blanc-mange, or 
Charlotte Russe, or floating island, unequaled. At 
the approach of company, each of these feels called 
upon to sustain her reputation at almost any sacriflce 
of time and convenience. Nancy shuts her piano, 
or her book, Ella drops her sewing, “ mother ” hus- 
tles her mending into some out-of-the-way nook, 
and forthwith the three roll up their sleeves, don 
their kitchen aprons, collect their sugar, flour, lard, 
raisins, currants, citron, spices, etc., and proceed to 
do their best ; that is to say, their worst. “ Hoav 
much butter for this ? ” “ Half a pound ; put 

in more for company.” “ How much sugar ? ” 
“ Three cupfuls ; heap the cups for company.” 
“ How much citron ? ” “A pretty large piece for 
company.” “ How many raisins ? ” “ There can’t 

be too many for company.” “ How much shorten- 
ing?” “You must make a rich crust for com- 


64 


Company Coming, 


pany.” In some cases, even common white bread 
— to say nothing of biscuits — must be shortened 
and extra-shortened for company. 

I will tell you something which once happened 
to me. Certain business duties having detained 
me until nearly evening in a neighborhood at some 
distance from home, I decided to accept an oft- 
given invitation to drop in at any time, and take 
my tea with an acquaintance who resided in that 
locality. The family were out, on my arrival, and, 
owing to a mistake on my part, I passed through 
the dining-room, in going to the parlor. The table 
was neatly laid for tea, and I could not help seeing 
upon that table a dish of baked apples, a plate of 
plain-looking gingerbread, some sliced meat, and 
the greater part of a large white loaf. Perhaps 
these drew my attention more strongly from the 
fact that I was desperately hungry. 

The family very soon arrived, welcomed me 
cordially, and the feminine portion of it left the 
room to “ see about tea,” as they said. ‘‘ Luckily, 
that cannot take long,” thought I to myself, ‘Tor tea 
is about ready.” But the meal was delayed nearly 
an hour. I had reckoned without my host-ess. 
Being summoned by that individual to the table, 
I found she had changed all that. The cloth had 


Company Comuig. 


65 


been replaced by one wbicb stood up in ridges. As 
to the table paraphernalia, I could not particularize ; 
but I saw that, instead of the former neat simplicity, 
there was now a gloss, a glare, a glitter, and a 
gilt-edgedness, the effect of which was to put 
buckram into my manners, and almost into my 
heart. 

But the worst part is yet to be told. The baked 
apples, the substantial loaf, the gingerbread, the 
sliced meat, had been removed, and in their places 
were preserves, hot biscuits, fruit cake, and jelly 
cake, and fried oysters. 

I must not omit to state that on a plate were a 
few thin slices from the loaf. But four times as 
many slices would scarcely have sufficed for the 
just-named purpose ; and to eat the whole, even 
of those, would have been impolite. To eat the 
whole, and then call for three successive plates 
full, would have been — well, there is no term by 
which conduct of that kind can be described. I 
longed inexpressibly — yes, inexpressibly is the 
exact word — for the baked apples, the cold meat, 
and the whole of the loaf. 

It is a homely saying among country foll^, visit- 
ing, Don’t put yourself out on my account.” My 
dear niece and namesake, if putting yourself out 


66 


Company Coming. 


implies the proceedings I have been speaking of, 
do, please, stay in. 

But on one thing I greatly depend, and I mention 
it with fear and trembling, knowing almost to 
a dead certainty, that it will put you out to gratify 
me. I beg for that joy and comfort and necessity 
of life which most housekeepers are eager to ex- 
clude from their dwellings ; namely, sunlight. Do 
not, I pray you, dear niece and namesake, shut me 
up in a darkened room ! Carpets ? Yes, I know ; 
but I will lay down protecting coverings, I will 
shift these protecting coverings, I will take almost 
any trouble to prevent damage, if you will only 
grant me sunlight. But, alas ! I fear that damage 
to carpets is not the only consideration which will 
be brought to bear against my petition. The matter 
of gentility will come in. To look genteel, a house 
should present a half-shut-up appearance. I know 
whereof I affirm. At your Cousin Mary’s my 
chamber carpeting was straw matting, and on the 
strength of its unfadingness I flung open the blinds, 
rolled up both curtains to within one pane of the 
top, and let in whole floods of sunshine. One day 
Mary said to me, Aunt Rebecca, if it is just as 
agreeable to you, I wish you would lower your 
curtains a little, and keep half of one blind shut ; 


Company Coming. 


67 


it looks so, when anybody is passing by-, to see 
everything stretched open.” 

A belief in the gentility of gloom is abroad in 
the community, or rather it is at home in the com- 
munity. We find it everywhere. I have often 
noticed the complacent, satisfied air with which 
the country housekeeper, after tidjdng up her rooms, 
goes from window to window, closing the blinds, 
or dropping the paper shades. The city house- 
keeper has the advantage of her country sister, her 
house being usually located in such a manner as to 
have windows only on two of its sides. She also 
has at her command heavy and abundant material, 
and with her three thicknesses of curtains can have 
the satisfaction of so darkening her parlors that 
across the room she can scarcely distinguish the 
features of her dearest friend. 

The same worship of the dim prevails in many 
of our fashionable churches. There has been much 
eloquence consumed in praising that line of Script- 
ure : ‘‘ Let there be light ! ” But the very clergy- 
man who reads these words of a bright Sunday 
morning may do so with liis head inclined to a gas 
fixture. It is the common belief, I think, that 
light was produced by a distinct act of creation as 
a special and unspeakable blessing to mankind. 


68 


Company Coming. 


But the civilized portion of mankind, as a general 
thing, seem to prefer being genteel to being blest. 
We see that plants and animals cannot thrive with- 
out sunlight; we know that in this respect the same 
law which governs them governs us, but — shall 
we not have the house look well to passers-by? 
Shall they see the blinds open and this blessing 
which is to make us thrive pouring in upon us ? 
I wonder how Arctic explorers feel about the mat- 
ter? I wonder if they do the correct thing, and 
when the sunlight streams forth upon them after a 
winter of darkness, screen their hatchway and cabin 
windows and so contrive to bring about this genteel 
gloom ? 

In our towns and cities are many houses the 
chief apartments of which are kept shrouded in an 
almost Arctic obscurity. The fact that the air 
inside those houses needs what the sun’s rays alone 
can give it, is ignored entirely, even by women, 
who are obliged to live mostly within doors. Not 
many, even of the most intelligent among them 
make a point of letting in this needful sunlight. 
Th6 average housekeeper drops the curtains on 
leaving a room, and shades the windows of her 
sleeping chamber. But,” you will say, ‘‘ this cur- 
tain dropping is not a matter of gentility alone, it 


Compa 72 y Coming, 


69 


is a matter of economy. We cannot afford to let 
the sun fade our carpets.” This makes a very 
simple thing of it. The question becomes merely 
this : shall our carpets last, or we ? The original 
purpose of houses was, I suppose, to shield us from 
unfavorable weather in order that we may live and 
thrive. But if we shut out from them the sunlight 
by which we live and thrive, they are thus made 
to defeat their own purpose. Now it stands to 
reason that carpets shall not regulate tliis matter. 
Are carpets made for houses, or houses for carpets ? 
If the latter, then let us put up small but tasteful 
buildings, carpet them richly, shut them carefully, 
and build other houses close by for dwelling houses. 
We could step in to see the carpets occasionally, 
and could take our friends in. For our dwelling 
houses we would have straw matting, or carpets 
which will bear fading, or stained wooden floors, 
or wood carpets, with rugs here and there, as foot 
comforts ; a rug, you know, is easy to cover or to 
move. 


IX. 


LET US VISIT ONE ANOTHER. 

According to her notions,” said Mrs. Chandler, 
after reading Aunt Rebecca’s letter, ‘‘people are 
not to trouble themselves about what they are to 
eat.” 

“ Oh ! she doesn’t mean that,” said Eunice. 
“ She means that we should put the trouble in the 
right place. People who rest content with a very 
poor quality of bread, and a scarcity of fruits and 
wholesome meats, will often trouble themselves a 
great deal to manufacture what are called ‘light 
victuals.’ ” 

“Yes,” said Mary Ann, “see how it is with 
apples. Just bake them in a pan with a little 
water and with sugar sprinkled over them — or 
with the cores taken out and sugar put in the 
middle — and they are delicious ; or cook them in 
quarters, or stew them. But either of these ways 
is too little trouble. We are not satisfied until we 


70 


Let Us Visit One Another. 


71 


have made a mixture of flour and grease and 
smothered them in that, and so put work into 
them.” 

“ Here’s a way of smothering strawberries,” said 
Eunice, taking up a newspaper. “ Listen : ‘ Three 
pints of flour sifted with two teaspoonfuls of 
cream of tartar, dissolve a teaspoonful of soda in 
a pint of milk, or water, stir together, and before 
molding add half a cupful of butter, or lard, 
melted, but not hot; stir this in also, and then 
mold thorouglily. . . . When taken from the 

oven, split open your cakes, butter them well and 
cover with strawberries, mashed and sweetened.’ 
Now strawberries are much better eaten as they 
grow, to say nothing of healthfulness, but we are 
not satisfied, as Mary Ann says, until we have put 
work into them.” 

‘‘ I might put up with plain living myself,” said 
Mrs. Johnson, but I should want something 
better set on the table before company.” 

‘‘And by something better,” said Allen, “is 
commonly understood something sweeter, richer, 
greasier. I once tasted, at a picnic, some excel- 
lent cooked pears. The next day I was the guest 
of the family who sent them. There were pears 
on the table, cooked in the same way as those of 


72 


Let Us Visit One Another. 


the picnic, but made so sweet, on my account, that 
I could scarcely more than taste them.” 

This makes us think,” said Mary Ann, of the 
woman who ‘put in four spoonfuls,’ because ‘tea 
couldn’t be too sweet for the minister.’ ” 

“ I knew of a city judge,” said Allen, “ who, 
when riding in the country one day, thought he 
w^ould take that opportunity of drinking a glass 
of pure milk. The old farmer who brought it to 
him added to it a little molasses, thinking to give 
him ‘ something better.’ ” 

“I believe that if some folks could make their 
company cake all butter and sugar, they would,” 
said Miss ’Cindy. 

“ O, no ! they wouldn’t,” said Eunice, picking 
up the newspaper, and reading rapidly. “They 
would ‘ Take a cupful of butter, two even cupfuls 
of white sugar, three cupfuls and a half of sifted 
flour, one scant cupful of milk, three teaspoonfuls 
of baking powder in the dry flour, five eggs, 
leaving out two whites, make frosting of the 
remaining two whites, with eight tablespoonfuls of 
fine white sugar (a little heaped), spread on the 
layers of cake, then a thick layer of fresh grated 
cocoanut. . . . Ice on top and put on a rich 

filling of cocoanut.’ ” 


Let Us Visit One Another. 


73 


“ That’s just such a cake as my cousin Dora 
made once when I was staying there,” said Miss 
’Cindy. ‘‘ She had been talking a long time about 
having the teachers to tea. ‘ I want to have ’em,’ 
she kept saying, ‘ but can’t quite see my way clear 
to have ’em.’ One Tuesday afternoon she said to 
me, ‘ It’s no use waiting. The washing and iron- 
ing are done and I may as well have ’em to- 
morrow as any time.’ She sent her little boy over 
and the teachers said they should be very happy to 
come. The next morning Dora was up bright and 
early. ‘ I want to set a good table,’ said she, ‘ and 
I’ve been awake these two hours, planning what 
to make. In the course of the forenoon she made 
this kind of cake, and cookies, and cream pie, 
besides boiling a tongue and cooking the family 
dinner. There was fruit cake already on hand. 
Her ‘ help ’ consisted of a little Irish girl twelve or 
thirteen years old. I was an invalid at the time 
and could only lie on the sofa and shake things at 
the baby to keep him still. He sat on the floor 
near me, with his back to the kitchen door. I 
shook my worsted at him, and my slipper, and the 
tidies, and then dropped filings down from the 
table as close to his hands as I could calculate. 
Dora worked hard until dinner-time. After dinner 


74 


Let Us Visit One Another. 


she touched up the rooms a little, filled the vases, 
dressed the baby and little Dora, and had just about 
got her own dress changed when the company 
came. It then lacked not quite an hour of tea-time, 
and she went out to make the biscuits and see to 
the table. At tea-time I noticed that the hostess 
looked flushed and talked very little. She told 
me afterwards that she felt too tired to talk, or 
even enjoy the evening, and that she should not 
try to have company again very soon.” ^ 

Allen said he once knew a little girl who when 
inviting company, said more than she had been 
told to. Mother wants you to come, ’cause she 
wants to have it over with.” 

“If those teachers were invited to many such 
tea parties,” said Eunice, “they were objects of 
pity. A friend of mine once went to make a fort- 
night’s visit in a town where she had numerous 
acquaintances. She was made the victim of a 
succession of tea parties, and on the eighth day 
left for home, literally fleeing for her life.” 

“ Our talk,” said Allen, “ reminds me of a re- 
mark made by a celebrated personage when asked 
to visit the Quaker City. Said he, in declining, 
M don’t feel as if I could eat my way through 
Philadelphia ! ’ We see that this thing works two 


Let Us Visit One Anothe7\ 


75 


ways. It prevents invitations from being given 
and prevents them from being accepted ; so there 
is not only the cruelization of company to be 
considered, but the prevention of sociability.” 

When the Simmonses moved into Bybury,” 
said Mary Ann, ‘‘ it was a long, long time before 
they were invited anywhere. Everybody wanted 
to have ’em, but nobody could get time to make 
tliree kinds of cake and et ceteras. Just imagine 
tliis matter of extra-feeding left entirely out of the 
company question, how simple a matter would be 
tills ‘ having ’em.’ It would at once let down the 
bars, so to speak, wliich keep us out of the 
delightful and desirable pastures of social inter- 
course. At present the case stands thus : Mrs. X. 
would like to invite So-and-So to come and see her, 
but waits till she can ‘ set a good table.’ So-and-So 
would like drop in to tea at Mrs. X.’s, but are 
afraid to mortify her by catching her without ‘a 
good table.’ Xow, this table pride, by standing in 
the way of social intercourse, becomes a hind- 
rance to neighborly union, and it should have a 
fall.” 

‘‘ Yes,” said Miss ’Cindy. ‘‘ Think of the num- 
bers of people, at this moment, in village, town, 
and city, who would like to invite, and the numbers 


76 


Let Us Visit One Another, 


who would like to be invited, and all waiting for 
goodies to be made ! ” 

Jed illustrated this remark by a hasty sketch 
made on the blank leaf of an old atlas. In his 
sketch, two crowds of people, separated from each 
other by a stream, were reaching out their hands 
as if eager to meet. Cooks were building bridges 
of cakes and pies, in order that the people might 
pass over. 


X. 


MBS. LAMMEBKIN’s ACCOUNT. 

Furnished to Miss ’ Cindy hy one of her Relatives^ 
and read at one of the Byhury Gratherings, 

My cousin says, that if some married woman 
who does her own work, would give an account 
of a day’s goings-on in the house, just exactly as 
they happened, it would be very interesting to 
hear, and says if I will write one, she will come up 
to North Byhury and do a week’s mending for me. 
It will be an easy enough matter to write one, and 
I will take yesterday, not because it was different 
from the general run of days, but because its 
goings-on are fresh in my mind. 

John got up and made the fire, as is his custom, 
and then went out to the barn. I got up as soon 
as he shut the outside door, — this is always my 
signal, — and crept down-stairs as softly as 1 
possibly could, so as not to wake the baby. I com- 


77 


78 


A'h's. Lammerkin s Account, 


monly stir up my johnny-cake over night, it is such 
a saving of cream o’ tartar, but this time we were 
out of meal and John was going to get some down 
at the village when he went to the caucus. I 
thought he did, but seeing the meal-bucket was no- 
where to be seen, I ran out to ask him about it. 
He said the store was shut up when he came by, 
and I’d better send Johnny in to Susan Moseley’s 
to borrow some, for we don’t feel as if we could 
make a breakfast without a johnny-cake, and 
besides we were short of white bread, as Sister 
Sprague and her family spent the afternoon here 
the day before. I set some a-rising as soon as they 
went home, but the weather came round cold in 
the night, and come to look at the dough it wasn’t 
half risen. I threw a lot of potatoes into the 
oven, in case worse came to worst, and went all 
the way up-stairs to call Johnny, as he is hard to 
rouse in the morning, and if I called up the stair- 
way it might wake the baby. Johnny was loth to 
wake, especially to go of an errand, and I knew it 
wouldn’t be safe to leave him until he was sitting 
on the outside the bed with his clothes in his hand. 
This took so long that by the time I got down- 
stairs the fire was out. I cut up a shingle with 
the carving-knife, and set the fire going. It was 


Mrs. Lammerkifi s Accoiuit. 


79 


about this time, I think, that Johnny called down 
that his trousers had a hole in them. I noticed, 
the night before, that he slunk off to 'bed in a sort 
of sideling way, and was mighty ready to go. It 
seems he made that hole sliding down hill with no 
sled, — his was broke, — nor anything else to slide 
on, which had been forbidden. His other pair of 
every-day ones were in the wash, so I told him to 
put on Iris best ones till I could get the hole 
mended, and to hurry after the meal. The noise 
we made talking back and forth waked the baby, 
as I expected it would. I brought him down and 
pinned a cradle quilt round him and set him up to 
the table and gave him sometliing to pound with. 
Johnny came back quick with the meal because 
Timmy Mosely was waiting for him outside, but I 
said ’twas no use his thinking of playing out with 
that pair of trousers on. Nellie B. came down 
then, ready for me to button up her waists behind, 
and with her shoes in her hand for me to untie the 
knots in the strings. She sat down in a chair with 
a shawl over her shoulders till the johnny-cake 
was in the oven. The baby cried a good deal and 
I had to hold him all breakfast time, and he’s just 
the age now when he’s pretty fierce to grab things. 
He dropped off to sleep after breakfast, and then I 


8o 


Mrs. Lammerkin s Account. 


stood up straight in the middle of the floor, think- 
ing what to do first. The corned beef for dinner 
needed to be put in soak right off, and the dinner- 
pot needed to go on right off, so as to have the water 
boiling, and the dough was risen and needed atten- 
tion right off, and there was Johnny asking, ‘‘Ma, 
when are you going to mend my trousers ? ” and 
Nellie B. waiting to have her hair parted and braided 
down behind, and I felt in a hurry to clear off the 
table and tidy up round the stove where John had 
made a litter with chip dirt, — you can’t expect a 
man when he’s doing anything about the house, to 
cover his tracks like a woman, — because it always 
mortifies me to have anybody come in and catch 
me up in heaps. I gave the dough a hasty stir to 
stop its rising, and moved it away from the stove, 
then put the meat to soak, then put the dinner-pot 
over, then set the flatirons on the back part of the 
stove while I thought of it, in case there should be 
a chance, in the course of the forenoon, to do up 
two shirts left over from ironing day, then took 
hold of Johnny’s trousers, for Timmy Mosely was 
whistling to him outside and almost driving him 
distracted. Nellie B. stood up in a chair at the 
looking-glass to try to part her own hair for school, 
^\and her foot slipped over the edge, and down she 


Mrs. Laminerkiii s Account. 


8i 


went and hurt herself some and began to ciy ; so I 
gave Johnny his trousers, though they were not 
quite done, and pacified Nellie B., and parted her 
hair, and got her ready for school. Johnny darted 
off like a shot before I had a chance to see to his 
getting me some dry stuff to burn. When they 
were both gone I began to knead my bread. Of 
course the baby began to nestle the moment my 
hands were in the dough, but I rocked the cradle 
with my foot and so managed to keep him still till ' 
the bread was in the pans. Then I washed and 
dressed him while he was good, and put him on the 
floor with his playthings to play with, then gathered 
the dishes up, ready to wash, then ran up-stairs to 
set the beds airing. I brought down a sheet off 
Johnny’s bed, to mend a rip in it, for I knew the 
rip would be likely to be a good deal larger the 
next morning otherwise, and there’s no time like 
the present, but first I ran down cellar and fetched 
up a cabbage, as cabbage needs to go in early, and 
got that ready. Then I hunted for my needle-book, 
— the children had turned my work-basket topsy- 
turvy, — and by the time I had my needle tlireaded 
one of the neighbors came in to beg some mullein- 
leaves, I went up garret to get the mullein leaves, 
and there I spied an old dress of mine that I’ve 


82 


Mrs. Lammerkm s Account. 


been a long time meaning to make over for Nellie 
B., and brought that down, so as to have it right 
before my face and eyes. After she had gone I 
concluded to let the sheet be and do up the work 
before anybody else came in. First, I washed the 
dishes, then scoured the knives, then wiped off 
the buttery shelves, then brushed the stove, then 
skimmed the milk, then got the baby to sleep, and 
then began to wash out a dress and petticoat for 
him — he’s just getting into his winter clothes, and 
they’re not all made yet. While I was in the midst 
of doing this John sent a man home after a key, so 
I wiped my hands and went up-stairs and hunted 
in all his pockets, and in boxes and drawers and 
closets, and on the floor in places where he might 
have dropped it, and didn’t find any key, but found 
thin places in some of the pockets, and brought 
down two pairs of pantaloons and hung them over 
a chair-back against there was a chance to mend 
the pockets. Then I finished my washing, and then 
ran up-stairs and made two beds. While I was up 
there I stopped at the glass a minute to straighten 
my collar and put my hair into little better shape, 
for in the morning I was in too much of a hurry 
to give it much more than a “ slick and a promise,” 
but hearing the baby I bobbed it up any way and 


Mrs. Lammerkiii s Account. 


83 


hurried down just in time to keep him from going 
over the side of the cradle. I thought I’d mend 
the sheet and make the other bed, but upon second 
thought concluded to iron a sliirt, as the baby’s al- 
ways the best when he first wakes up ; but first I 
had to bring up the turnips and potatoes and get 
them ready, and then to go out-doors after some 
dry wood, and then to pump a pail of water. 
Meanwhile the bread got baked and taken out, and 
rolled up in the bread-cloth. I got a bad smirch 
on the shirt-bosom almost the first thing, which 
was on account of the pot boiling over while I was 
up-stairs, though I thought I wiped every speck off 
the flatiron, but it does seem sometimes as if flat- 
irons had total depravity about them, especially 
when you are doing up starched things. While I 
was washing the smirch off, I happened to think 
that Johnny’s other pair of everyday trousers ought 
to be ironed in case the ones he had on should 
give out, and it was lucky I did, for he came home 
before school was done, crying because the hole 
had- come again. I broke my thread off too short, 
being in a hurry when Nellie B. slipped off the 
chair, and so the stitches had drawn out. I got a 
needle and thread and caught the edges together 
and sent him to the store to get some vinegar. 


84 


Mrs, Lammerkin s Account. 


Then I gave the baby a sleigh-bell and the muffin- 
rings and the skimmer and some tin porringers to 
quiet him and put on a thing of rice to boil, and 
stirred up a pan of gingerbread for supper and got 
that into the oven, and put the turnips and potatoes 
in the pot. The baby began to grow fractious, so I 
moved my ironing table close up to him, and every 
time he cried I jingled the playthings with my foot. 
My aim was to get the shirt done, and I did after 
a fashion, just in time to set the table for dinner. 
I had to carry the baby round with me wliile I was 
setting it, for I couldn’t bear to turn him off any 
longer. While I was taking up dinner Nellie B. 
was learning her map-lesson in a terrible hurry, she 
said, “ for all that missed would have to stay,” and 
I actually had to stop between the cabbage and 
potatoes to find the Gulf of Mexico. Altogether I 
forgot the gingerbread until I happened to spy the 
oven door, which Nellie B. opened unbeknown to 
me to dry her feet, and it fell in the baking, but 
I’ll risk its going a-begging. Johnny kept the baby 
still by piling up the tin things and having launch- 
ings with them. 

After dinner, I washed the dishes and swept up 
around the stove, and gave the stove a little brush, 
and watered my plants, and looked at my pickles, 


Mj's. Lammerkin s Accoimt. 


85 


and mended the sheet, and made the other bed, and 
ironed the baby’s dress and petticoat, and let down 
Nellie B.’s dress for Sunday, and basted a ruffle in 
the neck of it, and sponged the cloth for Jolmny’s 
new suit of clothes, and ripped the old dress to 
pieces. I wanted to get through with most of my 
odd jobs, for next day would be cleaning day, and 
next day would be baking day, and next day Sun- 
day, and then would come on another week’s wash- 
ing and ironing and so on. In the evening I mended 
such things as would be likely to be needed first, 
and finished rebosoming one of John’s shirts, and 
pared some apples for sauce, and picked over some 
raisins against Saturday’s baking, and helped Johnny 
with his examples, and stirred up my johnny-cake 
for morning. I sat up rather late in order to finish 
another of baby’s little dresses. Baby slept better 
than usual through the night, and I should have 
had an uncommonly good night’s rest if Nellie B. 
hadn’t waked crying with the earache. Luckily, it 
happened before the fire was out, so I roasted an 
onion in the ashes and clapped the heart of it in 
her ear and bound up her head, and after a while 
she went off to sleep. Some say that a piece of fat 
pork is better than an onion. 


XL 


MR. LAMMERKIN’s ENDEAVORS, AS NARRATED 
BY MRS. LAjVIMERKIN.* 

I’m neither a “ me jura ” nor a mind reader, but I 
can give a pretty good guess as to the time when 
John first thought of our employing hired help. 
In my opinion, this happened one day when I was 
not feeling well, and he offered to do the work. 
John is one of the kindest-hearted men. He bol- 
stered me up on the front-room lounge, half smoth- 
ering me in shawls, and, said he, “Now, Elinor, I 
can stay in the house to-day as well as not ; and if 
you’ll make out a list of the things you were going 
to do this forenoon. I’ll do them just like a book.” 
So I mentioned the principal things, and he wrote 
them down. 

Get children ready for school ; wash dishes ; 
sweep ; make the beds ; fill the lamps ; see to the 
baby ; rub the knives ; make a stew for dinner ; 


Read by Miss ’Cindy. 


Mr, Lammerkin s Endeavors, 


87 


make mush for dinner ; skim the milk ; work over 
yesterday’s butter; bake the bread; iron the baby’s 
flannel petticoat; hang out some clothes left in 
soak since Monday ; bake a pie for supper. There 
was a piece of piecrust in the basin, I told him, so 
all he would have to do was to roll it out and cover 
the plate and put in the mince and cover that 
over. 

I lay where I could look into the kitchen. The 
baby was close by me, in his cradle, and I managed 
to tend him the greater part of the forenoon. John 
acted quite handy in gettmg the cliildren ready for 
school, though Nellie B.’s parting did look some like 
a “herring-bone pattern,” and in clearing off the 
table, I couldn’t have done better myself, except 
that he took a good deal of time for it. “ The best 
way,” said he, “ is to go on with regularity, and not 
get hurried and flurried.” He scraped every dish 
as clean as a whistle, and piled them up in piles, the 
small ones at the top, and got the pan, and went to 
pour out the dishwater. “ Why ! ” said he, “ there 
isn’t a cupful ! ” 

“ The kettle ought to have been fllled up,” said 
I. “You have to look out about that.” 

He filled up the kettle, and said he believed he 
would sweep the kitchen. He carried out all the 


88 


Mr. Lanimerkhi s E^ideavors. 


mats and shook them. This ought to be done 
every day,” said he, and moved the furniture into 
the middle of the floor, “ so as to go thorough,” he 
said, and began to sprinkle the floor, but the baby 
cried then, and would not be pacified. 

He wants his bottle,” said I. 

John brought the milk out from the back buttery 
and warmed it on the stove, and then said the bottle 
smelled sour. 

“ Yes,” said I, “you have to look out about that. 
It wants scalding. You’ll have to take him.” He 
carried him round while the water was heating, and 
let him lie on the floor and cry while the bottle was 
being scalded and the milk poured in, then put him 
in the cradle, then set back the furniture, and then 
went on with his dishes in first-rate style. When 
they were about half-done he suddenly cried out, — 

“ Gracious ! ” 

“ What is the matter ? ” said I. 

“ Why,” said he, “ the dough is rising over and 
running down on the hearth ! ” 

“ Oh ! I suppose so, by tliis time,” said I, “ you 
have to look out about that. It ought to go into 
the pans, but just give it a stir now, and let it 
wait.” 

He had hardly done this, and scraped the dough 


Mr. Laynmerkin s Endeavors. 


89 


off the hearth, and begun on his dishes again, when 
the meat-cart stopped at the gate. He wiped his 
hands, and slipped on his coat, and ran out and 
bought the meat for the stew. I told him it ought 
to go right over the fire, so he got the dinner-pot, 
and wouldn’t have thought of washing the meat, 
but I mentioned it to liiin, and told him how much 
water, and to set it in one of the back places where 
it would do gradually. By this time the dishwater 
had grown cold, so he poured it off and went to 
the kettle, but there wasn’t very much hot — he 
forgot to fill the kettle again — so he went to work 
on the dough, and kneaded that over, after a fash- 
ion of liis own, and dumped it into the pans ; then 
finished the dishes, then rubbed the knives, then 
filled the lamps and washed them all in soapsuds, 
— on account of letting the kerosene run over, — 
then swept the room, without moving all the fur- 
niture out this time, then went up-stairs and made 
the beds, then brought me the pans to see if the 
dough were risen enough. I said it must be baked 
immediately, but that the oven must not be too hot 
at the beginning. He stepped back with it. 

‘‘There’s no danger,” said he. “Why, the oven’s 
scarcely warm. There isn’t very much fire.” 

“ Oh ! ” said I, “ the fire has to be attended to 


90 


Mr. Lammerkm s Endeavors. 


when there’s anything to bake. You have to look 
out about that.” 

You’ve said that four times,” said he. 

“ I won’t say it any more,” said I. Set it in a 
cold place, and start the fire.” 

“ There’s nothing but large wood here,” said he. 

‘‘Johnny ought to have been made to bring in 
some dry stuff before he went to school,” said I. 
“ You have to loo — I mean, he’s very apt to forget 
his chores.” 

John ran out in a hurry, and I’ll own it did not 
distress me to hear him hacking away at the wood- 
pile, for I’ve done the same thing myself, and I like 
him to know what it was to want to start a fire in 
a hurry, and have nothing to start it up with. He 
soon came back with a whole armful of dry stuff, 
and put a good deal of it in and opened all the 
dampers, and set the old stove a-roaring so I thought 
the chimney would get a-fire, and called out to him 
for goodness’ sake to shut the dampers, quick, and 
put in something solid. 

As soon as there was a good fire a-going, and the 
bread had been put in, he went out into the back 
kitchen to wring those few pieces out of the tub, 
and made such a splashing that though I called — 
on account of wanting the baby’s bottle — and 


Mr, Lanimerkin s Efideavors. 


91 


knocked with an umbrella, he did not hear, but 
hung out the clothes. When he came back, he 
looked into the oven, and said, — 

Elinor, ’tis black.” 

‘‘I was afraid so,” said I. “You have — that is, 
bread has to be watched.” 

John looked at his list. 

“I’ll iron that little petticoat, now,” said he. 

“Is the flatiron on?” I asked. 

“No,” said he. And on it went with a thump. 

“ How about the meat?” said I. “Don’t let it 
catch on.” 

He took off the pot-cover. 

“It has,” said he. “’Tis dry as a chip, inside 
here.” 

“I thought I smelled something,” said I. “You 
have to — I mean it’s a sign of rain when the water 
boils away fast.” 

“ I’ll sit down, and keep watch o’ these matters,” 
said he. 

I inquired the time of day. 

“Just going to strike eleven,” said he. 

“You’ve a good many things to do in an hour,” 
said I. 

“ That’s a fact,” said he. “ I’d better keep mov- 
ing.” 


92 


Mr, Lavimerkin s Endeavors. 


He went into the back buttery to skim the milk, 
and, when he came back, said the cat had saved 
him the trouble of skimming one pan. 

I suppose the buttery door has been left open 
ever since you got the baby’s milk,” said I. ‘‘You 
have to” — 

“To look out about that cat?” said he. 

“No,” said I, “about the door. I have to stop 
and set a chair against it every time I come out.” 

This touched him in a tender spot; for, if I had 
asked him once to get that latch mended, I had 
twenty times. 

Sick as I felt, I thought I should die a-laughing 
to see the manoeuvers in that kitchen, the last hour 
before dinner. I think about every dish and pan 
in the house were brought out, and set down, some 
in chairs, some on tables, and one or two on the 
floor, to make room for the ironing cloth. John is 
a plucky fellow. He was determined to do every- 
thing that was on the list. He flew round like a 
top, running here and there, fetching and carrying, 
and asking questions. He spatted the butter, he 
peeled the potatoes, and doused them in, he rushed 
after the meal-bucket, — for the mush, — he went 
like a dart to fetch the ironing cloth, taking mighty 
quick steps for a person that felt in no hurry, and 


Mr. Lammerkin s Endeavors. 


93 


mighty long ones, — two of ’em took him across the 
kitchen, — and on his tiptoes part of the time, be- 
cause I lay back with a veil over my face and he 
thought 1 was asleep. But I wasn’t, I was laugh- 
ing. When the water boiled away again, I heard 
him mutter, Oh ! you have to look out about that.” 
He filled the pot so full it boiled over. ‘‘ Oh ! jou 
have to look out about that,” he muttered again. 
In ironing the baby’s flannel petticoat, he scorched 
a place, and I saw by the motion of his lips that he 
was wliispering, Oh ! you have to look out about 
that.” He made the same motion when the spoon- 
handle slipped into the mush, and when the baby — 
baby was out there in his high-chair — grabbed the 
buttermilk basin; and when the fire almost went 
out again, and especially when some of the clothes- 
pins dropped off the line and let the clothes drag 
on the ground. The words were spoken out loud, 
then, and had another word joined to them that 
sounded almost like a ‘‘swear word.” I asked him 
when he was going to bake his pie. He asked me 
if I didn’t tlfink we could do very well without pie 
for one night, and I said. Oh ! yes, if he could. So 
he picked up the rolling-pin out of the clothes- 
basket and the rolling-board from behind the door, 
and carried them away. 


94 


Mr. Lammerkin s Endeavors. 


The children came home from school and had to 
wait half an hour for their dinner. John let them 
eat as soon as it was ready, but said he believed he 
would quiet down a little before he took anything 
into his stomach, or he should have dyspepsia. 

That evening, after the children were in bed, 
and the house was still, John sat by the fire a long 
time very quiet, as if engaged in meditation. At 
last he broke out with : — 

‘‘I could have done every identical thing on that 
list — if there had been time enough; and done 
them well — only for having to keep up such a con- 
tinual lookout. I don’t see how the — cook-stove 
— you manage to think forwards and backwards 
and all round, and carry on so many things at once. 
And you do a great many more things than I did, 
make clothes and mend them, and wash and iron 
and bake and clean house, and see to the children, 
and tend baby night and day ; and there seems to 
be no end, no letrup ; there’s something for every 
hour and every minute.” I shouldn’t mind that 
so much,” said I, ‘4f there were only hours and 
minutes enough for the work. But sometimes 
when I wake up in the morning and think of what 
must be done that day, and of the yesterday’s work 
left undone, and of to-morrow’s which is sure to 


'Mr. LammerkiTis Endeavors. 


95 


come, I own I do now and then feel discouraged, 
particularly when baby has had a worrisome night. 
I soon brighten up, though, and take lots of com- 
fort doing things for you and the children. But 
sometimes I think that even for her family’s sake, 
a woman ought to have time to eat.” 

‘‘ Why, Elinor ! ” said he, what do you mean ? 
you always come to the table regular.” 

“Yes,” said I, “but if a woman hurries through 
the forenoon and feels tired, and worried, and 
tremulous like, she doesn’t feel like eating, and be- 
sides, h6r food is apt to disagree with her, espe- 
cially if she has to go on hurrying right after eating ; 
and if this sort of thing is kept up a good while, 
why of course she gets all run down, and can’t do 
for her family as she otherwise would.” 

Upon this John went into another fit of medita- 
tion. Once during the time he muttered to him- 
self, without stirring, “No noonings, no evenings, 
no rainy days.” Afterwards he turned in his chair, 
rested his chin on the back and muttered the same 
thing, “No noonings, no evenings, no rainy days.” 


XIL 


WOMAN, OR WORK? — THE QUESTION AS DIS- 
CUSSED AT MRS. LAMMERKIN’S. 

. . . Cousin Lou came over last night ; and 

who should come with her but Mrs. Bent herself? 
‘‘ I teased her to come,” said Lou, “ because I thought 
it would be better for you to hear from her own 
mouth just what she does, and how she does.” 

The moment their things were off, Lou seated 
Mrs. Bent in the rocking-chair, and said, “Now 
we’re ready. Just begin at the beginning, and tell 
all about it.” 

“There isn’t so very much to tell,” said Mrs. 
Bent, “and there wouldn’t have been anything if 
my husband were not the best husband in the 
world.” 

“Oh! not equal to John,” I exclaimed. 

“Of course, not equal to John!” cried Lou; and, 
“ Of course not ! ” cried J ohn himself. 

“Well, call him second best;” said Mrs. Bent, 

96 


WomaUy or Work ? 


97 


laughing. “ My husband, being the second best 
husband in the world, takes different views of 
things from most husbands.” 

John does,” said I. 

‘‘ So much the better for you,” said she. 

‘‘Let’s hear the second best’s views,” said John. 

“I suppose,” said Lou, “that by ‘views of things,’ 
you mean views of household matters.” 

“ Yes,” said Mrs. Bent. “ The general idea is, 
you know, among men and women both, that in the 
household the work, the week’s work, should have 
the first consideration. In most families there is 
what is called ‘a system.’ An elderly woman, a 
well-to-do farmer’s wife, once said to me, with evi- 
dent self-satisfaction, ‘ I always had my system, and 
always carried it out. Every day had its work ; and 
I never let my feelings interfere with my system.’ 
At the time of her telling me this she was in a Re- 
medial Institute, under treatment for ‘ weakly com- 
plaints,’ which were brought on, as she told me at 
another time, by overwork. 

“If we look around among families who, like 
ourselves, belong to the poorer class and do with- 
out help, we shall see that ‘ the work ’ rules. In 
the course of the week there must be a certain 
quantity of washing, ironing, mending, making, 


98 


WoinaUy or Work f 


cooking and cleaning done. Must be. This ne- 
cessity is a sort of iron frame to which the woman 
feels obliged to fit herself. If the frame is too 
large, she must, as one may say, stretch out, to 
meet its requirements ; that is, work beyond her 
strength, endure beyond her endurance.” 

“ But how is this going to be helped ? ” said I. 

There’s the work, and it must be done.” 

‘‘We’ll consider that point by and by,” said Mrs. 
Bent. “ Let us go on step by step, as my husband 
did. The first step he took was with his eyes. He 
opened his eyes in some peculiar way, and saw, he 
said, that ‘ the work ’ outranked the woman, domi- 
neered over her, drove her, enslaved her. And he 
said, ‘ This can’t be right. W ork is a means, not 
an end. We don’t live to work, we work to live. 
There ought to be a revolution,’ said he. ‘The 
work ought to come down from the throne, and 
“ the woman ” ought to reign in its stead.’ ” 

“ And I agree with liim,” said J ohn. 

“Yes,” said I, “but — ” 

“We are coming to your but presently,” said she. 
“Let me tell first, how my husband fortified his 
position, that is, stated his reasons why woman’s 
health should be more considered than woman’s 
work. One reason is, that the children born of a 


Wornan^ or Work ? 99 

feeble, sickly, nervous, overdriven woman, are 
wronged at their birth, and before their birth. 

‘‘ Another reason is, that such a woman cannot be 
the power in the family which she otherwise could ; 
cannot fill the place which every wife and mother 
should fill. A family of children growing up need 
the mother at her best. All her faculties, mental 
and physical, at their best, will be required for the 
proper rearing of those children, and, also, to make 
her a true helpmeet to her husband. 

‘‘ And then there’s the woman herself to be consid- 
ered, apart from what she is to her family. A woman 
is born to enjoy life, to enjoy her health, enjoy her 
mind, enjoy good company, to enjoy the beautiful 
things wliich God has made, and wlfich man has 
made. Her mind ought to grow. It is not a talent 
to be hid away in a napkin. Moreover, she is born 
to live. Now if a woman stays in the house year 
after year, breatliing second-rate air, working be- 
yond her strength, thus stunting herself physically ; 
taking no time for reading and study, thus stunting 
herself mentally; why, what is this, my husband 
asks, but a double suicide ? slow, to be sure, but 
none the less wicked for that.” 

I said, ‘‘ Your talk seems reasonable ; still, this 
matter is not clear to me. Let alone present com- 


lOO 


Woman, or Work ? 


pany, I know many a woman who finds real 
pleasure in keeping her house tidy, and in making 
goodies for her husband, even if these things take 
her time and strength. Don’t you believe in neat- 
ness ? Don’t you believe in self-sacrifice ? ” 

“ Thoroughly and everlastingly ! ” said Lou, if 
the end be worthy. I’ve nothing to say against 
housework. Too many women do too little of it. 
If we must stay in the house, some exercise is 
better than all sitting still. And it need not hin- 
der mental culture. But when the proportions are 
unequal, — that is, when there is more work than 
there is woman, the question is, which shall give 
way, woman, or work ? And as to the making of 
goodies, why, I believe that wives do take real 
pleasure in pleasing their husbands in this way. 
But, when there is more goody-work than there is 
woman, — which shall be sacrificed? If you say, 
the woman, I say, that, for such self-sacrifice, the 
end is not worth}^” 

‘‘And as to this matter of pleasing husbands,” 
said Mrs. Bent, “are there not better ways of pleas- 
ing them than the one just mentioned? higher ways, 
I mean, worthier, more, on the whole, satisfactory ? 
Take, now, a good, sensible, intelligent husband, 
and give him his choice : a table provided with 


Woman, or Work ? 


lOI 


‘goodies,’ with a wife too tired to be a cheerful 
companion, so occupied with household matters 
that she has no time for mental improvement, and 
can take no interest in ideas ; or, plainer food, with 
a wife in good health, good spirits, who has enough 
mental cultivation to make her society agreeable, 
as well as to command the respect of her children, 
and to exert the right influence upon their charac- 
ters. Which would he choose ? ” 

“ It wouldn’t be paying a very high compliment 
to say that he would choose the first,” said Lou. 

“ Indeed it wouldn’t,” said Mrs. Bent. “ And it 
seems to me that when people talk of its being the 
duty of the wife to do things to please her husband, 
they should consider that there are different kinds 
of things, and that the husband might prefer the 
higher kind to the lower kind.” 

“ I see what you mean,” said I ; “ but, oh, dear ! 
must we give them bread and water ? Oh, how 
confused everything seems ! I’m sure God has 
given us palates to be pleased. And so do the 
men work too hard. And I think it is our duty to 
give attention to the cooking.” 

“ Certainly it is,” said Lou. “ I believe in giving 
more attention to cooking than is given — of the 
right kind of attention; believe in pleasing hus- 


102 


Womauy 07 ' Work ? 




bands, in making home happy, an& all that. And as 
for men working so hard, the conditions are wrong 
there, too ; and a change is needed, and it will come 
sometime, that is, when men feel their higher needs ; 
but, just at this particular moment, our question is 
— Woman, or Work? And what I insist upon, and 
what Mrs. Bent insists upon, and what her husband 
insists upon, is this, that when there is, as I said 
just now, more housework and more goody-work 
than there is woman, they shall give way, and not 
the woman. For a woman is made of material too 
precious to be scrubbed into floors, or rolled out 
and cut up into cookies ! ” 

‘‘But — Mrs. Bent, you haven’t come to my but,” 
said I. 

“Which is, I suppose,” said Mrs. Bent, “but how 
is the work to be done if the woman can’t do it her- 
self, nor hire a girl to do it ? ” 

“ Precisely,” said I. 

“ I don’t say,” she answered, “ that this but can 
be smoothed over so as to be wiped entirely off the 
face of the earth ; but I will tell you what the 
second-best husband in the world and his wife have 
done in this direction.” 

I will write again and tell you what she said. 


XIII. 


A HIEED GIBL. — POETION OF A LETTER WRITTEN 
TO MISS ’ciNDY BY MRS. LAMMERKIN. 

. . . I HAD noticed for several days that John 

seemed to watch me pretty closely, and that he tried 
to save my steps. As I said before, there never was 
a kinder-hearted man than my husband. After his 
mind was once turned to the subject it seemed to 
worry him, that, not sometimes, but all the time, 
my work and my cares hurried me, pressed me, 
crowded upon me. 

“ Flesh and blood can’t stand it,” — said he, — 
“tliis everlasting strain of body and mind, that 
never lets up for a moment, all day long, and not 
always at night, nor even Sundays. From one 
week’s end to another, from one year’s end to an- 
other, it is just the same. It won’t do. I mean to 
get a hired girl.” 

I shook my head and said, “We can’t do that; 
that takes money.” 


103 


104 


A Hired Girl. 


‘‘You know I got two hundred more than I ex- 
pected for the onions and turnips,” said he. 

“Yes,” said I. “But you were going to buy the 
Chapman pasture with that.” 

“ Look here a moment,” said he. “ Let’s talk this 
matter over in a common-sense way. If you or 
any of us were very dangerously sick, and a cure 
could be bought, we shouldn’t wait long to de- 
cide whether to spend the money in that way, or 
in buying the Chapman pasture. Now my reas- 
on tells me that you can’t go on long as you are 
going on, without running down. For you spend 
more than you make ; you are breaking in on the 
principal : I mean that you use up your strength 
faster than you get it. We are talking this over, 
you know, in a sensible kind of way, looking at 
things as they are. Of course, ’tis no more than 
natural that I should care a good deal about you ; 
and if I do, why, it is no more than natural that I 
should rather spend money in keeping you well, 
than in buying the Chapman pasture. Fact is,” 
said he, swinging round in his chair so as to half 
turn his face away from me, “ I don’t believe that 
even for his own sake, a man can invest money in 
any better way than to invest in health for his wife. 
That’s my opinion, and I mean to stick to it.” 


A Hired Girl, 


lOS 


It was something new for me to hear a man talk 
in this way. My father was a kind husband ; but I 
don’t think it ever entered his head that if mother had 
worked less, she would have suffered less, and have 
lived longer. He knew that she was overworked, 
and knew that, after long suffering from ill-health, 
she died in early middle age. Still, I feel sure that 
he never put these two things together. I think 
he took it for granted that her various ailments, 
and her death, were mysterious visitations of God. 
Yet, as I look back now, I see that she stopped liv- 
ing because she was worn out. Father thought a 
good deal of mother, and never grudged in the 
least what went for doctors’ bills and medicine ; 
but he was one of the kind of men who tliink that 
money spent inside the house, say, for convenience 
in doing the work, or in making things look pretty, 
is money turned aside from its natural course ; and 
I believe, that, with all his attachment to mother, 
he felt just about the same in regard to money 
spent for her special gratification. She was, as I 
said, a hard-working woman, year in and year out, 
as any woman must be who has a large family to 
attend to, and a dairy, and more or less farm hands 
to board; but I remember that when she asked him 
for money to buy her a dress, or a pair of shoes, she 


io6 


A Hired GirL 


asked it as a favor, and lie handed it out as if he 
were doing her a favor. 

Perhaps it was because I had never been used to 
seeing men show just such kind of consideration 
for their wives, that the few words John said made 
the tears come. I bent down over the baby, and 
wiped my eyes on a corner of its little bib; but 
I rather think John saw that my feelings were 
touched, for he said nothing more just then: he 
walked towards the window, and made some re- 
mark about the weather. 

But I was going to tell you about Katy Bryan. 
There were no young girls in our neighborhood 
who would live out. Our young girls are mostly 
in a hurry to get something to do in the city. 
There are two or three of them there now, partly 
supported by charity, who might earn comfortable 
and respectable livings if they would come back 
here and help some of their neighbors. 

Tilings being in this way, John went to Overton, 
and brought home an Irish girl. I must say, that, 
before she came, my ideas of the advantages of 
keeping help were different from what they were 
afterwards. Mrs. Mosely and I had often talked 
together of what we could do if we had hired girls. 
When we spoke of some of my relations in Overton 


A Hired Girl. 


107 


who did a great deal for the poor and in visiting 
the sick, we always said, “ Oh ! all that is easy 
enough for them ; they keep help.” I had an idea 
that if a woman kept help, she would only need to 
sit down and give out her orders, and then every- 
thing would go on like clock-work. John had that * 
very same idea. 

Katy Bryan came of a Thursday morning, just 
two weeks ago to-day, — a stout, heavy girl. I 
mentioned to her the different things there were to 
do, then took the baby, and went into the front 
room. Soon after this, happening to glance towards 
the kitchen, I saw Katy wiping some water off the 
oil-carpet with her dish-towel ! I could hardly 
believe my own eyes; I wouldn’t have supposed 
there was a woman in the civilized world who 
would do such a thing. I should as soon have 
thought — I don’t know what I shouldn’t as soon 
have thought! And the longer I looked, the more 
I was amazed. She washed the plates before the 
cups and saucers ; she strung the dishes along the 
buttery shelves, and set what was left of breakfast 
in among them, and* then swept the room without 
shutting the buttery door; and, in sweeping, she 
banged away at the mats and rugs, and made such 
a dust you could hardly see across the room ! 


io8 


A Hired Girl. 


All through the forenoon, whatever she under- 
took to do I longed to take hold and do it myself. 
And she went about any little job — as peeling 
potatoes and the like — as if she had all day for it. 
She did hurry some in setting the table ; but I had 
• to rush round after her, and straighten the table- 
cloth and the dishes ; and as to taking up the vege- 
tables, and slicing the cold meat, and cutting bread, 
why, from what I had seen, I thought my appetite 
would be better if I did all such things without her 
help. She took the baby into the front room to 
hold while we ate dinner, but I was so afraid she 
would stand him on his head, that I called her back 
with him. 

My cousin Lou, from Overton, happened to come 
and see me that evening. I told her I was almost 
discouraged ; and that ’twas pretty hard to look on 
and see your work done wrong end foremost, and 
everything out of place ; and then I showed her 
our kerosene lamp, burning with a three-cornered 
shape flame — on account of the wick having been 
cut up into a peak at one side — and the lamp all 
oily. 

I would rather do my work myself,” said I. 

Of course,” said she. Everybody would, but 
everybody cannot ; and so they must put up with 


A Hired Girl. 


109 


the next best thing. You’ll get on all right, if 
she’s willing to be told. The main thing is to have 
a girl willing to be told.” 

‘‘ But why not get a knowing one at the begin- 
ning ? ” I asked. 

‘‘You would have to pay very high wages,” said 
she ; “ and it is doubtful if one of that kind would 
come to this little country place ; and besides, they 
are apt to be set in their ways, and huffy. You 
have to handle them like glass. If you want any 
particular thing cooked, or some little job done, or 
to invite company, you have to feel around, and 
see if ’twill do to mention it.” 

“ But,” said I, “ Katy is awkward and slow, and 
is slovenly about her work. Perhaps I could get 
a better one of the same sort ; I mean of the stupid 
sort. What are you laughing at ? ” 

“ Oh,” said she, “ I am laughing at your simple, 
child-like faith that a change will be for the better. 
As a general thing, girls differ in kind — that is, in 
their kinds of faults — but not in degree. If they 
are quick, they slight their work and break things ; 
if they are slow, they never get anything done. If 
they do their work Avell and quick, there will be 
something else wrong ; they will waste ; they will 
wear your under-clothing, or cut up your sheets, 


1 10 


A Hired GirL 


or carry your provisions to their relations, or get 
drunk, or stay out late nights. Don’t change. As 
I said before, if Katy is willing to be told, keep 
her.” 

Katy has been here a week now. I can’t imag- 
ine a girl any more willing to be told. I tell ” all 
the time, and it doesn’t seem to put her out of her 
course an atom. I wouldn’t have believed there 
could be found so many wrong ways of doing 
tilings. She washes the windows with the baby’s 
sponge, and scours the oil carpet with sand. She 
doesn’t iron the clothes up into the gathers, and 
she irons the starched things rough dry. She 
leaves the lamps oily, she doesn’t screw the tops 
half on, and she cuts the wicks in all shapes. She 
puts the bed-spreads on with their stripes running 
crosswise the bed ; she gives us wet dishes to eat 
from, and black knives to eat with ; and leaves the 
pots and kettles greasy, and dirt in the corners of 
the room. When she kneads the bread — which I 
can’t bear to have her do — you’d think a horse was 
galloping across the floor, for she sets the dough- 
pan in a chair and goes at it with such might that 
the chair travels all round the kitchen. It makes 
me heart-sick to go over the house, especially into 
the buttery. The food she spoils and wastes would 


A Hired Girl. 


Ill 


keep a boarder, and she’s a very hearty eater. She 
seems to handle things as if her fingers were all 
thumbs, or as if she used the backs of her hands. 
In washing the closet shelves she broke a china 
bowl that my great-grandfather brought home from 
the East Indies. When she moves a piece of fur- 
niture, she goes at it as if she meant to shake it to 
pieces. Several bits of veneering have come off, 
which I am keeping till I can get some glue. 

I don’t tell John much about these matters, but 
try my best to cover up her shortcomings, espe- 
cially in the cooking line. He wonders sometimes, 
why, with a hired girl in the house, I am on my feet 
so much. He says ’tis like keeping a dog and bark- 
ing yourself. It seems to me that I should take lots 
of comfort doing my work, if she were only out of 
the house, but I don’t like to say so. Lou is com- 
ing again soon, and 111 have another talk with her. 
I shall write again in a week or two, so that you 
may know the end of the story. . . . 


XIV. 


LOOKING ON BOTH SIDES. — MBS. LAMMEBKIN’s 
SECOND LETTEB. 

My deab Cousin: 

I told you I would write again about our hired 
girl. She has gone. I did not feel able to bear 
the trial of her any longer. I got heart-sick of let- 
ting the work be done after her slovenly fashion. 
And in the cooking there was no dependence to 
be placed upon her. She might attend to what 
was in the oven, or over the fire, and she might 
not. It keeps your mind in a continual turmoil to 
live in this sort of anxiety, and to feel that your 
house is out of order all over, and to see everything 
going wrong. When she was fairly gone with all 
her duds, I felt light as a bird. I went at the 
buttery, setting that to rights, before she was fairly 
out of sight. Cousin Lou came next evening. She 
was surprised to find Katy gone. 

‘‘ I’m afraid you didn’t have patience with her,” 
said she. 


II2 


Looking on Both Sides. 1 1 3 

I laughed, and said that patience wasn’t what I 
wanted. I wanted my work done, and well done. 

‘‘But ^yith. patience you might have taught her,” 
said she. 

“Yes,” said I ; “and then she would have left me. 
John heard her tell her brother that when she had 
learned something about cooking she should make 
a change, and go where she could get higher wages, 
and where there w^as a church.” 

Lou thought a minute, and then said, — 

“ Well, even in that, she is like the rest of us ; 
we all ‘ make a change ’ when we can better our- 
selves. This matter of ‘ help ’ is a hard matter ;• 
still, in many cases, if the woman had patience, 
and took pains to teach, and tried to lighten the 
Avork, and made allowance for mistakes, and knew 
how to correct them, and how to cover up defi- 
ciencies, why, things would go on pretty decently 
smoothly. 

“ The truth is, tliis is a two-sided affair, and the 
fault isn’t all on one of the sides. There are girls 
that no mistress could ever get on Avith, and there 
are mistresses that no giii could ever get on AAutli. 
W e have a neighbor who has no more consideration 
for a hired girl than she would have for a machine. 
The Avork is just piled on, as you may say, and 


1 14 Looking 071 Both Sides. 

without any thought at all for the person under- 
neath! And then there is what I call the aloof- 
ness. This woman seems to hold herself aloof 
from her girls, looks down upon them, speaks to 
them in a lofty, frigid sort of manner, as if she and 
they belonged to two species entirely distinct from 
each other; whereas, hired girls have bones that 
can ache, patience that can wear out, and feelings 
to be touched by sympathy and kindness and con- 
sideration, the same as the rest of us. You see, we 
can’t help it. We are all human beings, and we 
can’t any of us be anything else. The flesh, and 
blood, and bones, and muscles of duchesses and of 
kitchen girls are made of just the same kinds of 
phosphorus, and iron, and oxygen, and hydrogen, 
and all those horrid chemical things that 1 can 
never bear the sound of ; both have the same affec- 
tions, and both are liable to the same sorrows. No 
doubt there are some who would like to help it. 
I’ve seen people who seemed as if they thought it 
a pity there hadn’t been a class created here a little 
above human beings, with different flesh and blood, 
and so forth, chfferent sensations, different hearts, 
different souls, and a different heaven in prospect. 
Anyway, I’m glad you’ve had this little experience.” 

Why so ? ” I asked. 


Lookmg on Both Sides. 1 1 5 

‘‘Oh! because it is well for people to see the 
general evenness of things. I have heard women 
who live in the country and do their own work, 
say of some wealthy city woman, — ‘ Oh I she lives 
an easy life, with servants at her beck and call.’ 
These poorer women can see that the richer woman 
does not wash dishes and sweep floors, but they can't 
know the trouble she has in teaching and manag- 
ing, and in overseeing her servants, and in keeping 
peace between them. Then, again, more is ex- 
pected of her in various ways. Having had this 
experience with one girl, you can understand that 
a woman with two may have a dinner spoiled, or 
her beds ill made. But her husband might not 
understand. He would say, perhaps, as I have 
heard one say : ‘ My dear, I don’t understand how 
it is, that with two servants in the house every- 
thing should not be well done.’ It is very plain to 
you, now, that the fact of there being two servants 
in the house would not insure everything should 
be well done in that house, or that the mistress 
should live at her ease. It is plain, I think, that 
the richer woman has her perplexities and anxieties, 
as well as the poorer one. We might see it even 
more plainly if we were familiar with her daily life 
and the duties which belong to it ; that is, if we 


Il6 Looking on Both Sides. 

could look on both sides, up and down. This is 
what I mean by the evenness of things.” 

While we were talking, John was stepping in 
and out, doing his chores, and saying now and then 
a word. At last, when he was taking off his boots 
and getting into his slippers, he came out with this 
question : — 

‘‘Now, I should like to know what the reason is 
that a woman can’t get another woman that can do 
her work for her ; a man can always get another 
man that can do his work for him.” 

“ One reason is,” said Lou, “ that woman’s work 
is divided into a great many kinds, all of which are 
to be done by one person. Some people — espe- 
cially some men — seem to think that because a 
woman is a woman, she must know how to do every 
single one of these. But such knowledge isn’t born 
with a woman; she has to learn how. Now if help 
have not learned how — and few of them have — how 
can they do? But what I want to come at now is, 
the variety, the innumerable branches, of indoors 
labor. You speak of hiring a man to do your work. 
Men is the correct word. If you want your trees 
pruned, or your fence painted, or your grass mowed, 
or a stone wall built, or butchering done, or your 
cart mended, or a wheelbarrow made, or your straw- 


Looking on Both Sides. 


117 

berries picked, or a harness repaired, you get a dif- 
ferent person for each employment. And another 
thing, the greater part of these have been trained 
to their employments. 

And seeing we are on tliis subject,” said Lou, 
‘‘ I want to say where I think a mistake is made. 
Speaking within bounds, I suppose there are fifty 
branches of employment which come under the 
name of general housework ; reckon them up, and 
see if it isn’t so. Then there are the making, and 
mending, and cutting out. Many women who do 
their own work, cut and make their husbands’ and 
children’s clothes. Now, I think the mistake is 
just here ; namely, in taking it for granted, that be- 
cause alLthese kinds of work are ^ woman’s work,’ 
one woman must do them all. Here the doctrine 
of ‘ both sides ’ comes in again. I know there are 
wives who neglect their work ; and, pray, don’t 
understand me as blaming husbands, or as making 
them out to be bad. It is no more than natural 
that they should fall in with the general way of 
thinking. They don’t know that woman’s work 
demands intelligence, and skill, and patience, and 
endurance, and that it never lets up. Neither do 
they know how exhausting it is, nor that a woman 
needs outdoors air. Bad? No, indeed. I never 


1 1 8 Looking on Both Sides. 

had a husband ; still, so far as my observation 
goes, they are a good-hearted race — but awfully 
ignorant ! ” 

John laughed, and said, ‘‘Well, here is one all 
ready to be instructed. Are you ready for the 
question ? How shall we manage matters in this 
family, so as to make things easier for Elinor?” 

I will tell you the rest of the talk in my next 
letter. . . . 


XV. 


LIGHTENII^G THE LOAD. 

MES. LAI^EMERKIX’S THIRD LETTER, GIVING THE 
EXPERIENCE OF A NEIGHBOR. 

. . . “In the first place,” said Mrs. Bent, “we 

fixed ourselves firmly upon this ground: namely, 
that in household affairs welfare shall not be sacri- 
ficed to unnecessary work, 

“We were sure of our principle ; the next ques- 
tion was: How to apply it? We ciphered our way 
out of at least a part of the difficulty by the rules 
of reduction and co-operation. 

“ The first, reduction, we stumbled upon in this 
way : One day a load of stone was stopped in front 
of our house. The driver yelled at the horse, and 
lashed, and swore ; but all to no purpose, for the 
very simple reason that there was more load than 
there was power to pull it. At last, he rolled off 
a few of the stones, and then the horse went ahead. 
‘ There ! ’ cried my husband, ‘ why don’t we do 
119 


120 


Lightening the I.oad. 


that way ? If your strength doesn’t match the 
work, make the work match your strength. Roll 
off a few stones. There can’t be a more common- 
sensible way than that.’ 

‘‘Yes,” said I. “But which stones? What part 
of the work can be left out ? 

“‘What cannot be left out? Perhaps it will be 
better to take hold of that end first,’ said he, ‘and 
decide what parts are the most essential parts.’ 

“ The washing and ironing, to begin with,” said I. 

“‘The washing, yes,’ said he. ‘Cleanliness is an 
essential part; but is it absolutely necessary that 
every inch of cloth in the weekly wash should be 
rubbed with a heavy flatiron ? Can there not be a 
stone thrown off here ? ’ 

“Not iron the clothes?” I cried. “Why, im- 
agine Laura and myself with our dresses and 
aprons beds of wrinkles; and your shirt-bosoms 
the same ! W e can’t give up appearances alto- 
gether, in this stone-rolling ! ” 

“‘No, indeed,’ said he. ‘We must all look well, 
and so must our rooms, and our table. I believe 
in all that ; but can’t you save on the sheets and 
the underclothing ! ’ 

“ Oh ! no, indeed,” said I. “ Think how they 
would look on the ‘ horse ’ ! My mother brought 


Lightening the Load. 


121 


me up to be particular, and not to slight. She her- 
self never slighted. Every garment was ironed 
way up into the gathers, and every sheet and towel 
was ironed all over, just as smooth as glass. To 
be sure, she wasn’t a well woman. But that was 
why she got so much praise. People said : ^ How 
beautifully her clothes look on the horse, — and 
she so feeble ! ’ 

‘‘ ‘ But that’s making the wrong thing promi- 
nent,’ said husband. ‘The question is not. Will 
these things look w^ell on the horse? but. Is this 
woman able to do this work ? If you put in oppo- 
sition wrinkled clothes with smooth clothes, why, 
of course every one would choose the latter ; but 
if you put into opposition with each other wrinkled 
clothes and an overworked woman, it is to be 
hoped that every one would choose the former. 
We must keep the right thing prominent.’ 

“It was some time before I could roll off this 
stone with a clear conscience. In my mother’s 
family the precept ‘Have your clothes look well 
on the horse,’ was considered almost as sacred as 
the moral law. But I saw that I could never be 
what I ought to be to my husband, children, or 
even to myself, unless the work could be lessened ; 
so that, after all, the forsaking of this time-honored 


122 


Lightening the Load. 


precept was but choosing between duties, and 
choosing the higher. We had a proper regard for 
appearances. Of course such things as di*esses, 
aprons, cuffs and collars, shirt-bosoms and pillow- 
cases, were ironed nicely. But I found that on 
underclothing, towels and sheets, there might be a 
deal of ironing left undone, and the heavens not 
fall in consequence ; and, moreover, that after 
the article had been worn or used five minutes, the 
difference was not noticeable. I found that a 
slight rub with my two hands would remove most 
of the roughness ; so whenever the case allowed, I 
just gave the things a shake and a rub and a fold ; 
aired them well, shut my eyes, and laid them away. 
Some of them I ironed a little, say, on one side, or 
at the bottom, or at the top, or just gave them 
a dab, as I folded them. Some women say that 
clothes seem more wholesome with the sunshine 
and outdoors not ironed out of them ; and we all 
know that flannels are not so flannelly after being 
ironed.” 

‘‘So you had to shut your eyes at first,” said 
Lou. 

. “Yes,” said Mrs. Bent; “I felt so ashamed, you 
would have thought I was breaking all the Ten 
Commandments. But these feelings don’t trouble 


Lightcjiing the Load. 


123 


me a bit, now. If I’m troubled at all, it is that I 
have laid out so much strength at the ironing- 
table.” 

‘‘On tucked and ruffled white skirts, for in- 
stance,” said Lou. 

Mrs. Bent turned her head and held up both 
hands, as if to ward off something about to fall 
upon her. “ Don’t mention them ! They are a 
snare and a delusion — time-traps. Oh ! how I 
have toiled over their tucks, and ruffles, and em- 
broideries. And infants’ and small children’s white 
dresses! We live near the centre of the town. 
People there think a great deal of dress. Mothers 
keep their children in white, say, for the first two 
or three years, because ‘ they look so much prettier 
in white,’ and because such is the custom among 
wealthy people. A woman who has money enough 
to hire servants enough to wash dresses enough for 
a clean one to be afforded every day, keeps her 
child in white, and, therefore, the woman who has 
no servant tries to do so, too, at whatever outlay of 
strength and time. It is only a servile following. 
If the rich people’s children left off white, their 
children would leave off white.” 

“ Still, it must be confessed that they act partly 
Lorn good motives,” said Lou. “They act from 


124 


Lightening^ the Load. 


mother-love. They are willing to tire themselves, 
to use themselves up. It is a kind of self-sacrifice, 
after all.” 

“ But you know we have decided that if there 
must be a sacrifice, it shall be for worthier objects,” 
said Mrs. Bent. Let them give up doing these 
things for their children, in order that they may 
do better things for those children. Such as read- 
ing, talking, walking with them — especially walk- 
ing the woods and fields ; such as getting light on 
matters connected with their proper training.” 

‘^1 suppose,” said Lou, “that you ciphered out 
more than one sum in the rule of reduction ? ” 

“ O, yes!” said Mrs. Bent. “ We gave up light- 
colored paint; and had our doors grained. And 
we got plated knives. These saved work, and 
hard work ; and we had longer intervals between 
the regular cleaning times. And I did some pretty 
smart ciphering in the sewing problem. I bought 
for the children and myself to wear good materials, 
but made them up in simple ways, — not homely, 
by any means. They were tasteful, but simple. 
By carrying this idea all the way through, from 
underclothing to outside garments inclusive, a 
pretty large stone was thrown off my load ; for the 
change affected the washing, as well as the sewing. 


Lightening the Load. 


125 


In this matter of clothes, I induced some of my 
neighbors to agree with me in the idea of dressing 
our children simply. They were glad enough to 
fall in Avith the plan. If several unite in tliis, no 
cliild need feel herself peculiar. And you should 
have seen the reducing we did in the cooking. 
You should have seen the stones roll off there ! 
Pies went first. We used to have them on the 
supper table every night. Dear ! but weren’t they 
a big stone off ? Tliink of the paring, and slicing, 
and chopping, and stirring, and rolling, and tend- 
ing them in the oven. Husband said it was folly 
for me to spend myself so ; that he always satisfied 
liis hunger with the first things, and ate the pie 
and cake after he was satisfied. So cake and 
doughnuts went too, and then went regular des- 
serts. Husband came out again with his satisfac- 
tion theory, and declared, honor bright, that he 
always satisfied his hunger with the first course ; 
that the other was only a palate-pleaser, and that 
if he really needed anything more than the first 
course he could eat baked apples, or sauce, or 
bread and syrup, or raw fruit, or whatever Ave hap- 
pened to haA^e. I don’t mean to say that we never 
make a bit of cake or a pudding, in fact, we do 
often have plain cake, or gingerbread, and occa- 


126 


Lightening the Load. 


sionally, to help make out, a pudding. But they 
are not counted in among the must haves. I have 
escaped from their tyranny. If there’s no cake in 
the house, I don’t feel myself to be a shamed and 
sinful creature, as I used to.” 

I asked her if they did not get tired of eating 
the same few things over and over. 

‘‘My dear woman,” said she, “there’s no lack of 
variety. Think of all the vegetables, all the meats, 
all the fruits, all the grains ! ” 


XVI. 


‘‘MANY HANDS MAKE LIGHT WORK.” — IVIRS. 

bent’s explanation concluded. 

“When we began to consider tins matter of co- 
operation,” said Mrs. Bent, “ my Laura was in her 
thirteenth year, Fred was ten, Harry five, and 
Nannie two. One day my husband came in unex- 
pectedly, and found me crying. It was an hour or 
so after dinner; I had worked hard all the fore- 
noon, ironing Laura’s dresses, cutting out clothes 
for Fred, and doing various other things. Laura 
made excuses for not helping me with the dinner 
dishes, and finally went about the work sulkily; 
and so I told her she might leave it. Then Fred 
went off, without doing his chores, knowing that I 
should have to do them myself. Husband asked 
me so very anxiously what was the matter, that I 
wiped up in a hurry, and began to laugh, and said 
the matter was, that I was a foolish little woman 
to expect consideration from cliildren; and then 
went on to tell my troubles.” 


127 


128 Many Hands Make Light Work. 


He thought awhile, and at last said : ‘‘ The chil- 
dren now consider their work as an outside task, 
that is, as something in which they have no per- 
sonal concern. I wonder if they can’t be made to 
feel that it belongs to them?” 

^^He touched the right spot there,” said Lou. 
“ In most families, ‘ the work,’ no matter how much 
there may be, is thought to belong to the mother. 
When the children or others do any part of it they 
are ‘ helping mother.’ ” 

Husband proposed,” said Mrs. Bent, ‘‘ that cer- 
tain portions of ‘ the work,’ should be taken off my 
shoulders and distributed around.” 

This coToperation rule has a good sound,” said 
I ; ‘‘ but how did you act it out ? And did tilings 
run smoothly forever after that ? ” 

“ Now don’t understand me as claiming too 
much,” said Mrs. Bent. “ In this imperfect life, 
with imperfect fathers and mothers and imperfect 
children, we can’t expect perfect smoothness. Very 
likely others may succeed better than we. I’ll tell 
you how we began, or how husband began. One 
evening I went over to mother’s of an errand, leav- 
ing him with the children. After Laura had fin- 
ished her examples and had begun scribbling on 
her slate, her father asked her to write down all the 


Many Hands Make Light Work^ 129 


different things I had to do in the different days of 
the week, leaving out Sunday. She began to write, 
her father and Fred prompting when her memory 
failed. The list covered both sides. Husband 
wrote at the beginning, for a title, — ‘Mother’s 
Work,’ then remarked that it was a good deal of 
work for one person. 

“ ‘ I help her some,’ said Laura. 

“‘Yes,’ said he, ‘I suppose you call what you 
do, helping her ; and that Fred calls what he does, 
helping her; but, after all, you are only helping 
yourselves. Mother eats a small part of the food 
she cooks, and wears a small part of the clothes 
she makes and washes and irons and mends. So 
all this work is not really hers, but only hers to 
do.’ Then he rubbed out the title, and wrote in 
in its place, ‘The Family’s Work,’ which is called 
‘ Mother’s Work.’ 

“ ‘ Now I should like to know,’ said he, ‘ why 
members of the family consider it as a favor to the 
mother when they do parts of their owii work? 
For instance, I have noticed that to get a meal, 
and clear it away, there must be wood and water 
brought, vegetables got and cleaned and cooked, 
other tilings cooked, the table set, dishes washed, 
knives scoured, and some tidying up of the room 


130 Many Hands Make Light WorkL 


done afterwards. Now it doesn’t seem right for 
one person to do all this labor, and for other per- 
sons to feel that their part is only the eating part. 
This isn’t fair play. And speaking of parts,’ said 
he, ‘boys and girls seem to think it is their part to 
run about and have a good time, and their mother’s 
part to stay in the house and work. This doesn’t 
seem fair play, either. Mothers like to have good 
times as well as children. They like to be out- 
doors ; like to go to see their friends ; to go to 
meetings and lectures, and picnics, and tea-parties.’ 

“ Husband said he knew this was rather serious 
talk for the children, but he saw no reason why 
they should not sometimes listen to serious talk, 
as they were entering upon life, and life is a seri- 
ous business. Besides, in order to make the right 
thing prominent, he was obliged to talk seriously. 
He went even farther in this direction. He spoke 
of my long days spent in the house, working every 
minute; and, said he, '•Now if we want to keep 
her with us, and keep her from suffering pain and 
sickness, we must take extra care of her ; we must 
not let her work too hard, and we must send her 
out-doors now and then, or send her a-visiting, or 
off on a little trip somewhere.’ 

“ This talk of husband’s had quite an effect upon 


Ma7iy Hands Make Light Work. 


the children. It set them thinking ; they seemed 
to understand, better than before, why they were 
expected to take certain parts of the work upon 
themselves, and the necessity — and the justice — 
of their doing so. They wanted to help on my 
account. We talked the matter over with them, 
and settled what Laura should do, and what Fred 
should do, and even what Harry should do. I 
gave Fred some of the indoors work, such as scour- 
ing knives and setting his own bed to airing, and 
gave Laura same of the errand doing, because boys 
get plenty of out-doors air, and girls very little. 

‘‘I asked how she could bear to have her children 
work so hard. 

‘‘ ‘ Why,’ said she, ‘ they did not work so very 
much harder than before, but the labor of getting 
them to do the work was to a great degree taken 
off my shoulders. They understood that certain 
parts of it were their own, and not parts of mine 
wdiich they did — by coaxing, or bribing or threat- 
ening — as a favor to me.’ 

“ There is no need of going into particulars ; you 
know what house duties would naturally fall to a 
schoolgirl. The cooking was of course my Avork ; 
but bringing Avood and water for the cooking Avas 
Fred’s Avork. Every morning he filled up Avith 


132 


Many Hands Make Light Work. 


water a barrel which stood in the porch. Harry 
helped, with his little pail, and helped some on the 
wood and chips. As I said at the beginning, every- 
thing did not go on with perfect smoothness ; there 
were occasional jars, and altercations, and forgetr 
tings, and shirkings ; but there was very much less 
worry than before — less fuss, less friction. 

The first time Fred forgot to fill the water barrel, 
his father asked him if he didn’t think that, as that 
was his work, which, if neglected, came upon me, 
there ought to be a plan contrived of making 
him remember? Fred seemed rather doubtful; but 
finally said that he supposed so ; and it was decided 
between them that it would be the fair thing if for 
every forgetting there should be a pretty long stay- 
ing in-doors. There were not many forgettings 
after that. A system of this kind is, as we may 
say, self-acting : you don’t have to attend sepa- 
rately to every little bobbin, spool and spindle, of 
the household machinery — you work them from a 
distance. 

“ Of course, it made a great difference having 
husband take hold of this thing : children are too 
young to consider, and mothers do not like to be 
always complaining that they are not able to do 
this, that, or the other ; but when the children see 


133 


Many Hands Make Light WorkL 

that father thinks mother’s overwork, her constant 
confinement, are serious matters, why, they begin 
to think so too. 

One thing I reasoned out wholly by myself. I 
saw that it was hard to bring children into habits 
of regular work, — to ‘ break them in.’ It seemed 
to me that if they could be made to grow up into 
such habits, this difficulty would be very much 
lessened. So I began Avith my little two-year-old 
Nannie, and let her do some trifling things at stated 
times. For instance, just before a meal, she carried 
her playthings back to the place where they Avere 
kept ; when the meal Avas over, she put the napkins 
in the table-drawer; when the dishes were being 
washed, she laid a few of the spoons on the buttery- 
shelf. As she grew older, other things were added, 
as setting back the chairs after a meal, and setting 
them in place for a meal, laying the napkins round, 
and so forth. Ways of carrying out this idea will 
suggest themselves to almost any mother; the 
whole object being that a stated duty, no matter 
hoAV trifling, is done at a stated time. This kind 
of training involves some trouble ; still it pays in 
the end, as I can testify. But there must be per- 
sistency at the beginning: no letting up, never a 
single giving way. When this irrevocableness is 


134 Many Hands Make Light Workr 

once felt by the child it submits to it, and then this 
whole thing runs itself, as we may say. The bene- 
ficial effect upon character of this habit of work, 
this regularity, is by no means a small considera- 
tion. 

‘‘Some mothers have a different opinion of these 
matters : they say of their children, ‘ Poor things ! 
they will have hard work enough by and by! Let 
them take comfort wliile they can ! ’ I think this 
is a mistaken kindness. I tliink it would be better 
reasoning to say, ‘ Poor things I they will have 
hard work enough by and by ! It will be too bad 
to let it come upon them all at once ! ’ And this 
applies to the upper as well as to the lower classes ; 
for even children born to wealth will never amount 
to anything unless they accomplish something 
worth living for, and to do this requires hard work 
of some kind, and regular habits of work. 

“But we had other co-operation. On Mondays, 
if no washwoman could be had, husband hired a 
boy, or even a man, to turn the washing-machine, or 
pound out the clothes ; and he himself sometimes 
hung them out — always took them in. And he 
helped me a very great deal in another way. Be- 
fore, whenever we were out of anytliing, I had to 
bear it in mind, and remember to tell him. He 


Many Hands Make Light Work. 


135 


would usually say, ‘Remind me of it, the last 
thing before I leave the house.’ Then I would 
bear it in mind again, through thick and thin; 
watch for his final departure, tell him once or 
twice — on a false alarm — before this finality hap- 
pened, and drop everything and run to shout after 
him from door or window, if it happened suddenly. 
The errand was mine, and not his ; and if he re- 
membered it, there was a sort of feeling on both 
sides that he deserved a little praise. When we 
were planning how a stone could be rolled off here, 
and another there, I said it would be one big stone 
off, if I could have everything that was needed in 
the house always at hand without care or fore- 
thought Oil my part. He said he would gladly 
take that stone on his own shoulders, but how 
should he know when I was out of anything? We 
arranged it in this way: We kept a blank-book 
hanging at the porch door. Whenever I found 
that we should soon need some article, I wrote its 
name there, and had no care about it ever after. 
It was his affair then, not mine. He looked at the 
book ‘ the last thing,’ tore off the list and put it 
in his pocket. He had no more to do than he had 
before, and I was saved the continual bearing in 
mind. Another way in which he co-operated was 


136 Many Hands Make Light Work. 


by seeing that I had conveniences for doing the 
work. He raised the porch floor so that I didn’t 
have to step up into the kitchen. Nobody can 
tell the relief this was to me.” 

I suppose,” said Lou, ‘‘ there are a great many 
huabands who would have as much consideration 
for their wives as yours had for you, if they only 
knew it was needed.” 

“ Some wives couldn’t stand so much considera- 
tion,” said I, “it would make them lazy. They 
would depend too much on their husbands.” 

“ A few, doubtless,” said Mrs. Bent, “ but their 
number is small compared with the hosts of over- 
worked women who really need consideration either 
from themselves or from others. I say ‘from them- 
selves,’ because some women are so foolish, so ig- 
norant of what they might be and should be to 
their families, that they will overwork and nobody 
can stop them. But they, as well as the others, 
would be benefited by learning to cipher in the 
rules of Reduction and Co-operation.” 


XVII. 


HUSBAND AND WIFE. — A PAPER READ AT ONE 
OF THE BYBURY GATHERINGS. 

HUSBAND (^solus'), — As wives belong to tlie in- 
jured .class, — namely, women, — they wdll always 
find somebody to sympatliize with them, and pity 
them, and weep for them; but who is going to 
sympathize with us husbands, and pity us, and 
weep for us ? 

Another tiling which pertains to the injured class 
is — rights. Now, man, single and alone, has of 
course no rights in own right ; yet, when he forms 
a matrimonial partnership with one of the injured 
class, should he not share in the privileges of that 
class, and have, by virtue of his position, ‘‘ rights ” ? 
As nobody is likely to take sufficient notice of me 
to answer my question, I will answer it myself, in 
the affirmative. 

And the first right which I claim for our species 
is the food-right, — the right to well-cooked meals, 


137 


138 


Husband and Wife. 


regularly served. Yesterday, our noon meal was 
half an hour late. The children came home from 
school in that famished condition to which, some- 
how, study does always reduce school-children, and 
clamorous for food. They were reproached by their 
mother for being unwilling to wait, for being im- 
patient. Benny cried, and had to be shut up in 
the front room, where he did not shut up at all, 
but went off in a steady bellow. I could have 
bellowed myself, I was so hungry ; and, besides, it 
seemed likely that my dinner would be cut short 
— as it was — by the coming of a man to see me 
on business. I lost my pudding that day — steamed 
pudding, with sauce ; my especial favorite. Some- 
times — yes, often — our breakfast is delayed a long 
time on account of the necessary preparations hav- 
ing been forgotten the night before. This irregu- 
larity is bad for the children, not only physically, 
but in its effects on their characters. Yesterday, 
we had at dinner, warm, soggy biscuit ; there being 
no other bread in the house, with the exception of 
a pile of moldy pieces. 

And this reminds me of another right. For my 
family, I am willing to work ten or even twelve 
hours a day ; for the swill-man, not a moment. 
Yet the latter carries off, in various shapes, more 


Husband and Wife. 


139 


or less of my hardly-earned money, which, more or 
less carefully saved, would buy many of the things 
for which Eliza is pining, as magazines, engravings, 
drawing lessons for Eliza Frances, etc. 

I also claim, for my own species, the clothes-right. 
A husband has the right to ask that the portion of 
the family wardi’obe, which properly falls under the 
wife’s supervision, receive suitable attention. If 
any human being deserves pity and sympathy, it is 
the husband whose underclotliing is in shabby con- 
dition, and whose stockings come to him unmended 
from the wash. If any situation calls for tears, it 
is that of a husband engaged in cutting off with a 
pair of scissors, as evenly as he can, the worn edges 
of his wristbands and collars. 

I don’t know how it is my children have so few 
clothes. I always tell Eliza to buy everything they 
need ; but, the other day, Eliza Frances, in going 
to the picnic, was two hours behindhand, she having 
waited that length of time for a dress to be ironed, 
yet the picnic was planned two weeks ago. Some 
mornings, one or another of the boys is obliged to 
lie in bed until certain garments — usually trousers 
— have been made presentable. 

And here, again, the subject of waste comes in. 
For want of the nine stitches taken in time, — I 


140 


Husbaftd and Wife. 


forget the exact words of the proverb, — I saw, last 
week, an excellent pair of trousers which I had 
bought, ready-made, for Benny, go, inch by inch, to 
destruction. First, there appeared, just below one 
knee, a small hole of the kind my mother used to 
call a “ trap-door hole.” A single needleful of silk, 
applied in season, would have closed the ‘‘trap- 
door ” very smoothly. That single needleful was 
not applied. The next morning the aperture might 
have been described by the term “ barn-door.” In 
the afternoon, some unlucky nail took it into its 
head — this was Benny’s expression : he’s one of 
the smartest little fellows ! — to go into that en- 
larged opening, and the result was a jagged tear, 
reaching nearly to the bottom. Eliza said they 
were not worth mending, and the washwoman had 
them. 

Another of our rights is the right to a comfort- 
able, pleasant home. We have a right to complain 
when the home is not homelike, and especially 
when it is destitute of order, cleanliness, and of 
the various little touches by which woman’s hand 
can make it attractive. 

My mother had a larger family than Eliza has, 
and fewer conveniences, and less money to handle. 
But her boys and girls always went neatly clothed. 


Husband and Wife. 


141 

her house was like wax-work, she had a place for 
everything, and a time for everything, and, as for 
her pies, doughnuts, and pastry, to say that we 
have nothing like them in this house, is to put it 
very mildly indeed. Eliza says that nowadays 
men-folks must be less particular about their food, 
in order that women-folks may acquire culture. 
The other day, when the top crust of the ginger- 
bread — the part I like best — was burnt to a crisp, 
Eliza said that she had been reading, and that while 
that top crust was burning she got an idea, and 
intimated that I was behind the times if I placed 
top crusts above ideas. Now, I am aware that they 
should not be so placed. Nobody thinks more 
highly of ideas than I do. I believe in the fullest 
culture for women. But is not culture compati- 
ble with a pleasant, comfortable home, and — top 
crusts ? ” 

Wife (solus). — Round and round and round! 
Breakfast, dinner, supper, and then — prepare for 
breakfast ! The chain of work is complete, for the 
‘‘ missing links ” are supplied by sewing. Oh ! wdiy 
were we not so made that in one month could be 
done the cooking for a year ? During that month, 
I w^ould consent to be tethered to the cook-stove by 
a string just long enough to enable me to reach the 


142 


Husband a7id Wife, 


store-room, and revolve around the extension-table ; 
and, oh ! what pies, cakes, puddings and preserves 
would I not spread before my dear family ! And 
then — eleven months of blessed freedom ! Time 
for reading, walking, sewing, — oh ! but the children 
should have elegant clothes ! Especially the girls. 
Benjamin likes to see them dressed like other little 
girls. And so do I. Book-writers say, “Watch 
carefully over your children. Give them your per- 
sonal presence. Take them out, and show them 
the operations of Nature. Read, study, possess 
yourself of every sort of information which will 
assist you in the right training of your girls and 
boys. Get culture for your own sake. With 
powers of mind by which you may soar to the 
empyrean, Avhy give yourself up to tliis drudgery 
of housework?” Book-writers also say, “Make 
home attractive. Prepare for your husband appetiz- 
ing food. Welcome him always with a smile. Be 
orderly. Be methodical. Neglect no household 
duty.” 

I try to fulfill all these requirements, and do not 
fulfill a single one. The other night, I took three 
of my children out walking, showed them the 
flowers shutting themselves up for the night, and, 
as we strolled along by the brink of a pond, ex- 


Husband and Wife. 


, M3 


plained the wonderful change of the polliwog to 
the frog. We spent a profitable and a delightful 
hour ; but — the yeast was forgotten that night, 
and we got out of yeast bread, and next day I had 
to give Benjamin sour-milk biscuits, which were 
somewhat heavy on account of the stove refusing 
to draw, as is often the case in a calm time. It 
grieved my very heart that I had no yeast bread 
for Benjamin, he having a dyspeptic stomach, but, 
even if I should tell him this, he would tliink it 
very singular that so much grief and forgetfulness 
should exist in the same person. He cannot under- 
stand how sorry I am when I forget, or when the 
food is not well cooked. He has not the faintest 
idea of the amount of thought and calculation which 
go to the preparing of a meal. He likes, for liis 
dinner, meat and all the vegetables, and then pie or 
pudding. There is nothing unreasonable in this ; 
but if he only knew how easily a dinner, or parts 
of a dinner, may be spoiled, and how powerless a 
woman often is to prevent such catastrophes ! If 
he only knew how tired I am, at times ; how my 
back aches ; how my head aches ; how nervous I 
get, with twenty duties calling at once, and the 
children all wanting me, and perhaps the baby cry- 
ing, and B Libby into every kind of mischief ! I 


144 


Husband and Wife. 


feel that this unending care and toil is drawing me 
down, down, down ; that I am, in one sense, losing 
my mind. 

I long for books, and time to read them ; long 
for pictures, for all beautiful and elevating in- 
fluences, for the companionship of cultured women, 
and especially for ideas such as will assist me in 
training the children, which duty, Benjamin says, 
is the chief duty of a mother. 

One afternoon a friend sent in a book entitled 
Dress Reform,” and composed of lectures given 
by women physicians. I looked it over, oh! so 
eagerly, searching for sensible and healthful ways 
of dressing my darling little girls. While doing 
this, I sat down by the stove to watch the baking 
of some gingerbread. I was also watching Bubby 
at the same time. He must have turned the damper 
with a fan wliich he got by reaching up to the 
bureau ; sometimes it does actually seem as if that 
child was made to draw out, like a telescope ! 
Meddling with the damper is just what suits him. 
The end of it all was, that my gingerbread got 
burnt black on top. I felt that it would be impos- 
ing on Benjamin to receive him with a smile that 
night, and he so fond of the uppercrust ! In fact, 
it is hard to smile when one feels discouraged and 


Husband and Wife. 


145 


dissatisfied; and not only hard, but hypocritical. 
Take, for instance, the other day, when the market- 
man came late, and my little kitchen-maid had 
gone to her cousin’s funeral, and the baby was 
fractious, and Bubby pulled a basin of milk down 
upon himself, and the stove wouldn’t draw, and 
Benny’s trousers had to be mended before school 
was done, on account of his having worn liis best ones 
to school, — from necessity, — that could never do 
for best again after a noon’s play-time. A smile 
on my face at such a time would have been a smile 
of hypocrisy or else of despair. 

I wish Benjamin would sell one of his fields, and 
buy a library. The children’s questions make me 
feel my ignorance. The amount of his cigars for 
one year would almost pay for a set of the cyclopaedia. 
Think of having books in the house which could 
give the children information on every earthly 
object, animate or inanimate ! But it would be 
tantalizing to have books, and be kept from reading 
them by this never-ending routine of work. And yet 
I take pleasure in working for my husband and 
children. I like to make things comfortable for 
Benjamin. It gives me solid satisfaction to prepare 
for him plum pudding, with sauce. Men are so 
fond of pudding with sauce, it does one’s heart 


146 


Husband and Wife. 


good to place it before them. Oh! if the days 
were but twice as long, or twice as many to a week. 
But now here I am, duty calling two different ways. 
Information, ideas, culture, I must have, for my 
children’s sake and my own. Good food, decent 
clothes, a tidy house, my family must have. How 
shall all this be accomplished ? O dear, dear, dear ! 
I give up in despair. 

FROM AN OUTSIDE PARTY. 

(To the Husband.') 

Do not suppose, that, because the family duties 
are woman’s work, a woman has strength to per- 
form them all. It is owing to the overwork of the 
women of your mother’s day, that the women of our 
day have so little vigor. A man can form no idea of 
the strain, physical and mental, which comes upon 
the mother of a family. If you knew what a labor it 
is for Eliza to dress her little girl like other little girls, 
you would advocate simplicity in dress. If you 
knew how it exhausts her to prepare ‘‘pies, dough- 
nuts, and pastry,” and “all the vegetables,” you 
would be content with a simpler diet and less 
variety, or else employ a cook. It is poor economy, 
in every sense, to save your money by spending 
your Avife. 


Husband and Wife. 


147 


Provide for your children good literature, that 
they may be kept from reading the bad. For the 
father of a family, books are often a better invest- 
ment than land ; always a better one than cigars. 

Don’t forget that, in order to do her whole duty 
by her children, a mother needs, and must have, 
books, reading-time, and recreation. Many hus- 
bands seem to think that the chief end of woman 
is to bear children, cook, and sew. 

(7b the Wife.) 

You are lacking foresight, calculation, and the 
faculty of bringing things to a focus. It is an un- 
thrifty housewife who does not have at least one 
day’s meals arranged ahead. Don’t live ‘^from 
hand to mouth.” The same with clothes. Chil- 
dren need four suits, — one for very best, one for 
second best, and two for the wear and tear of 
every day. To get on with a scantier supply 
is poor economy. Promptness in mending saves 
many a garment from going to ruin. Spend less 
time in unnecessary sewing. Dress your girls 
simply. By a judicious training, with your own 
example, you can educate them to prefer a simple 
style. Could the several mothers of a neighbor- 
hood agree to adopt this idea, it would help 


148 


Husband and Wife. 


greatly in making it practical. Improve your mo- 
ments (very important), and get moments by con- 
triving ways of making the baby amuse himself. 
Holding a baby is not always the best way of taking 
care of it. For your older children, have evening 
readings from entertaining books of biography and 
natural history. Get the women of your neighbor- 
hood to unite with you in the purchase of publica- 
tions on subjects of special interest to wives and 
mothers. The time for reading these can be found 
by giving up superfluous cooking or superfluous 
sewing. Remember that in promising to be married 
you voluntarily assume the prospective duties of 
wife and mother. Chief among these duties are 
those of making the home comfortable and at- 
tractive, and of seeing that the food provided for 
your family is so cooked as to be wholesome and 
palatable. 


XVIII. 


A TALK MATKIMOKIAL. 

Friekd Solomok : 

At our gathering last evening we took up a con- 
tribution for Aunt Sylvie. Doing this reminded 
us of the advisory letter she wrote her nephew 
concerning his choice of a wife. Some of the com- 
pany wondered what kind of a letter she would 
write a niece in regard to the choice of a husband. 
Eunice Hartman said she saw no reason why, with 
slight alterations, the same letter would not an- 
swer, substituting masculine pronouns for femi- 
nine, and ‘‘husband” for “wife.” One of the 
qualities which Aunt Sylvie thought indispensable 
in a wife, was good temper. “Now it stands to 
reason,” said Eunice, “ that good temper in a wife 
is no more essential to the husband’s happiness, 
than is goodr temper in a husband to the wife’s 
happiness.” 

“But you know,” said Miss ’Cindy, “that the 


149 


ISO 


A Talk Matrimonial. 


happiness of a wife is not of so much importance 
as the happiness of a husband.” 

‘‘ There’s many a true word spoken in jest,” said 
Allen. ‘‘It must be confessed that the average 
matrimonial suggestions of the newspapers show 
that Miss ’Cindy only expresses the general feeling 
on this subject.” 

“ What I am going to say now has no reference 
to the people of this place,” said Miss Luce, “ but 
before coming here I worked as seamstress in a 
number of families. In several of these families 
there were husbands who never appeared to think 
themselves under the least obligation to be good- 
tempered. I believe their wives were sometimes 
actually afraid to speak to them ; afraid, that is, of 
huffy, or sharp, or contemptuous answers. There 
was one wife in particular who seemed to think it 
a mighty piece of condescension if her husband 
talked with her familiarly and pleasantly. His 
manner to her was usually that of a superior to an 
inferior. It was a rare thing for him to answer a 
question of hers in a civil, friendly manner.” 

“I wonder why it is,” said Miss ’Cindy, “that 
husbands — I don’t mean the husbands of this 
place, any more than Miss Luce did — assume 
such airs of superiority, and think ’tis all right for 


A Talk Matrimonial, 


151 

them to snub their wives, and to put on a crabbed 
or sarcastic or quenching manner in talking with 
them ! Because a man is married to a woman shall 
he therefore cease to treat her civilly? Being 
single myself, I make bold to speak my mind, and 
my mind is, that husbands are just as much bound 
to be good tempered as wives are.” 

“ A man,” said Mr. Parson Chandler, solemnly, 
‘‘has many cares and perplexities. These harass 
his mind and make him fractious.” 

“ As if a woman did not have cares and perplex- 
ities ! ” said Eunice. 

“ In the particular case I referred to,” said Miss 
Luce, “these were chiefly on the woman’s side. 
She had several small children, poor help, or none 
at all, and she was very far indeed from being well. 
Her husband was a mechanic, working at good 
wages, and as a general thing was affable and gen- 
tlemanly except to his wife. He spoke to her in 
this way I have mentioned, simply because she 
was his wife.” 

“Did he care for her?” asked Mary Ann. 

“ Indeed he did,” answered Miss Luce. “ It was 
not because he did not love her, or did not desire 
her happiness, that he treated her so. It was, be- 
cause she was his wife, and for no other reason.” 


152 


A Talk ^atrimoniaL 


I have often observed this sort of thing,” said 
Miss Hunt, the schoolmistress. “ It is a remnant 
of the old barbaric idea that the wife was the prop- 
erty of the husband, to do with as seemed to him 
good.” 

^^Well,” said Allen, “we’ll give in on the good- 
temper question. Another of Aunt Sylvie’s points 
was neatness ; certainly that need not be insisted 
upon so strongly in the husband as in the wife.” 

“I don’t know about that!” cried Mrs. Johnson. 
“Judging by sister Nancy’s husband, I calculate — 
Barnabas ” (speaking to her husband), “ you can 
stand behind the door while I’m telling this — I 
calculate that Barnabas there has saved me thou- 
sands and millions of steps. When I’ve been a 
visiting at Nancy’s I’ve said to myself, how can 
her patience last? Her husband never thinks of 
wiping his feet, never puts a thing in its place, and 
’tis just about one woman’s work to run after him 
and set the house to rights. He goes into all 
manner of dirt with good clothes on, he scrapes 
acquaintance with nails and rails and bramble- 
bushes, and Nancy is forever chasing him round 
with a needle and thread, or with a bottle of some- 
thing good to take out something I ” 

“ Being single,” said Miss ’Cindy, “ I cannot speak 


A Talk MatrimoniaL 


153 

from experience, but I’ve seen enough to know that 
a man can lighten a woman’s work, or make it 
harder, according as he’s neat or slovenly.” 

Here I overheard Miss Luce say something to 
Miss ’Cindy, in a low voice, to the effect that she 
longed to express her mind in regard to personal 
neatness in a man, but supposed it would not do. 
Miss ’Cindy asked her if she referred to anything 
in particular. “ Yes,” said she. I refer to un- 
cleanly hands and finger nails at meal-times. 
There’s no excuse for this kind of slovenliness, so 
long as soap and water and nail-brushes are to be 
found. We hear a great deal of talk about the im- 
portance of personal neatness in wives. I think it 
is equally important in husbands.” 

While this under-talk went on, some of the com- 
pany took up another part of Aunt Sylvie’s letter. 

“ One sentence would have to be left out, at any 
rate,” said Mrs. Parson Chandler. “ I mean that 
one which speaks of the wife leaving her own 
meeting to go with her husband. You can’t shift 
that about. ’Twould look funny to see a man 
leave the meeting he had always been attending, 
and go with his wife.” 

Coming down to the root of the matter, I don’t 
see why that is any funnier than for the wife to 


154 


A Talk Matrimonial. 


leave the meeting she has always attended, and go 
with her husband,” said Eunice. 

‘‘ But the man is the head of the family,” said 
Mrs. Chandler. 

“ One of the heads,” said Eunice. The wife’s 
belief is as dear to her as the husband’s is to him. 
And, since woman was endowed by her Creator 
with reason, judgment, and conscience, it must 
have been intended that she should use these fac- 
ulties in forming her opinions.” 

Still, you can’t say that religious union between 
man and wife is not desirable,” said Mrs. Johnson. 

On the contrary,” said Eunice, ‘‘ I think it ex- 
tremely desirable. But we cannot hope always to 
see it, because belief cannot be controlled.” 

And since it cannot be controlled,” said Miss 
Hunt, I think the best way to secure harmony is 
that both parties should agree to differ, and to 
respect each other’s right of opinion.” 

‘‘ I remember,” said Allen, that, in advising her 
nephew, it rather puzzled Aunt Sylvie to decide 
whether the wife should be mentally the equal of 
her husband, or his superior, or his inferior ; as well 
informed as her husband, or more so, or less so. 
Miss Hunt, what advice should the niece receive 
on tliis point ? ” 


A Talk MatrimoriiaL 155 

“ I think,” said Miss Hunt, smiling, “ that it 
would promote harmony in married life if the wife 
should know very little indeed ; just enough, say, 
to cook her husband’s meals properly, to attend to 
his wardrobe, and to keep the house in order. If 
the husband is intellectually the superior of his 
wife, she will naturally defer to him. You must 
see that this will promote harmony. Of course the 
wife would need some education ; enough, at least, 
to enable her to read the cookery-book, and per- 
haps the Bible.” 

‘‘ Oh ! now you are funning,” said Mrs. Johnson. 
‘‘ Pray talk as you really believe.” 

“ I really believe,” said Miss Hunt, ‘‘ that this 
state of things would insure harmony of a certain 
kind. Where there is perfect submission on one 
side, there can be no discord. But whether or not 
it would insure the happiness of either party is 
quite another question. Of all the married couples 
I have ever seen, those were the happiest in which 
the husband and wife took interest in the same 
subjects, aims and ideas, and found enjoyment in 
the same pleasures. It seemed to me that these 
couples were more married than the others. There 
was between them, not only the marriage bond, but 
the bond of sympathy. If you wish me to speak 


]S6 


A Talk Matrimonial, 


what I really believe, I should say, that if either 
head of the family need culture and enlightenment, 
and almost every kind of information, it is the wife, 
for the reason that the training of the young chil- 
dren is peculiarly her province. 


XIX. 


ODD OR EVEN ? — A VOICE FROM BEACON STREET. 

To THE Bybury Gathering: 

Ladies and Gientlemen : — A friend has recently 
sent me “ Mrs. Lammerkin’s Account,” a paper 
read at one of your Gatherings. Since reading 
it I have several times found myself comparing 
situations : Mrs. Lammerkin’s, mine, and those of 
other women in the various walks of life. Per- 
haps there is more evenness in these situations 
than is commonly supposed, comparing the care, 
and toil, and deprivations and general wear-and-tear 
of th^ wealthy city women with those experienced 
by a farmer’s wife dwelling in a log hut on the 
Western prairie; there seems, at first glance, no 
evenness at all in the distribution. But I tliink 
that whoever will follow the course of a family 
which goes steadily on from life in a log hut to 
“society” life in a luxurious city mansion, will 
find that the desirable as well as the undesirable 
is left behind at every step. 

^ 5 ? 


158 


Odd or Even ? 


The family in the log hut have one room and a 
bedroom, and a cellar for milk. The older children 
sleep in bunks against the walls. The hired man, 
when one is employed, has a “ shake down ” on the 
floor. 

As soon as means can be afforded, a larger house 
is built ; a house with three rooms below, and two 
chambers. Our family now rejoice in the posses- 
sion of a neatly furnished sitting-room, free from 
the little unpleasantnesses of the kitchen. The 
older children and hired man sleep in the chambers 
and perform their ablutions there, rather than at 
the kitchen sink or at the brook. Much is gained ; 
still the gain is not total. Living in two rooms 
was inconvenient, but then there were only two 
rooms to take care of. The sitting-room is a treas- 
ure, but it and its furnishings need daily attention. 
It is nice to have the children and the hired man 
out of the way, but more and better bedding is 
required than answered for bunks and shake- 
downs ; the chambers with their toilet apparatus 
must be kept in order ; and now begins that “ up- 
stairs and down,” which takes the life out of so 
many of our women. Mother has more comforts, 
but she is paying the price of them. 

A few years, and the situation again changes. 


Odd or Even ? 


159 


The country round about is beginning to be settled. 
Our family wanted neighbors ; now they have them. 
Here, again, the gain is not total. Going a-visiting 
and haying company take time and money; and 
besides the new comers are not all desirable people. 
Some are meddlesome, others are coarse, others 
again are vicious. But our family must associate 
with them, and its children must play and study 
with their children. This is the price it pays for 
neighbors. 

Land has risen in value and father profits by the 
rise. He is able to build a larger house. Mother 
desires a larger sleeping-room for herself; also a 
spare room, sure to be fit to sit down in when com- 
pany comes ; also a spare chamber, for guests ; also 
a back porch where washing can be done ; also a 
large pantry and several closets. The house is 
built and the necessary furniture bought. Mother 
sits up nights to make the curtains, bed-quilts, 
table-covers, rugs, chair-cushions, wall-brackets, 
picture frames and other fancy articles required 
for the additional furnishing and adornment of 
the eight rooms which, exclusive of closets and 
pantry, she now has to sweep and dust and scrub, 
and keep in order generally. Her added labors are 
the price she pays for her added conveniences. 


i6o Odd or Even? 

Father sees that the price is too much for her, and 
hires a girl. The girl relieves mother of the heavy 
work, but she is slovenly, or saucy, or wasteful, or 
dishonest, or perhaps given to strong drink, and is 
disagreeable as a member of the family. Mother is 
sorely tried. This is the price she pays for her relief. 

More years go by, and the scattered neighborhood 
becomes a flourishing town. Our family are now 
in comfortable circumstances. They move into a 
larger and more convenient house, and furnish it 
handsomely. To match this large and handsomely 
furnished house demands a higher style of living. 
The sons and daughters go to school with Judge 
So-and-So’s sons and daughters, and must dress up 
to their level. Mother’s dress, too, must corre- 
spond with the new state of things. Immense 
quantities of sewing are done, mostly by mother, 
for a seamstress is beyond her means, and the girls 
cannot help much. Their time out of school is 
occupied with practising,’^ dancing-schools, party- 
going, party-giving and various other matters inci- 
dent to the new situation. Of all these mother 
has the supervision. And mother also must go to 
parties, and give parties, make calls and receive 
callers. And rightly enough ; for shall not social 
intercourse be kept up ? And other demands are 


Odd or Even f 


i6i 


made upon mother. As a woman in comfortable 
circumstances she is expected to assist at church 
fairs, festivals, donation parties, and the like. 

In her new situation mother has more clothes, 
more bedding, more china, more silver, more furni- 
ture, more ornamental articles, more rooms, more 
“ help,” more company than ever before ; but now 
comes the price. Everything in tliis handsomely 
furnished house requires her personal attention. 
Neglect and careless handling, and moth, and rust, 
and robbery must be guarded against. For the 
more ‘‘help,” there must be more teaching, more 
annoyances, more bearing and forbearing than ever 
before. Social intercourse and the delightful ex- 
citement of fairs, festivals and donation parties 
make serious inroads upon mothers time and 
strength. Time, and strength, and annoyances, and 
worry, and hurry, and multiplied cares, go to make 
up the price she pays for her step onward. 

Another step is taken. Father’s speculations 
have proved successful, and he has now become 
immensely rich. Our family remove to a magnifi- 
cent mansion in the city where father has his busi- 
ness head-quarters. There is no lack of money. 
Mother need waste no thought in planning small 
economies. Both ends are sure to meet. 


Odd or Even ? 


162 

The magnificent mansion must have magnificent 
furnishing. There must be pictures and marbles, 
and a library, and elegant upholstery, and articles 
of adornment imnumerable. Mother is almost 
literally at her wits’ end. What pictures shall she 
buy ? What statuary ? What books ? What 
adornments ? Are this and that and the other in 
good taste ? Do they correspond, or does this jar 
with that, and that with the other ? And the ex- 
pensive wardrobes of herself and her daughters, 
are they elegant, or merely showy ? The younger 
daughters have a governess. Is she a person skill- 
ful and judicious in developing the intellect, and 
whose influence for good is assured? The idea 
comes home to mother that a lavish spending of 
money may not, after all, insure satisfactory re- 
sults. She finds that to spend money well, requires 
brain work, and taste, and culture, and even per- 
sonal exertion. 

And now that our family are in society ” proper, 
society callers call, and society invitations are re- 
ceived and accepted, for the daughters must go into 
society ; father likes to be social ; and, besides it is 
for his interest to make the acquaintance of men 
of position. The evening portion of city social 
intercourse and city entertainments necessarily in- 


Odd or Eveii ? 


163 

volves late hours, — necessarily, because of the 
long distances. After business hours, the men 
must go all the way to their homes — often outside 
the city, dress for the evening, and travel perhaps 
a mile, or miles, to the place appointed. Previous 
to the last change of situation, mother had always 
kept the youngest of her children under her own 
charge, nights as well as days. Now, however, 
she needs to sleep late in the morning. It will 
not answer to have her nights cut off at both ends. 
But children wake early and instantly begin their 
day’s work. What shall be done? This state 
of things demands a nursery and a nursemaid, and 
the removal from mother’s room of the children 
with their cribs and their other belongings. 

Mother now has a cook, chamber girl, laundress, 
seamstress, governess, nurserymaid, and a man-in- 
w^aiting. Some people may say, “ I should think 
she might live easy now ! ” Easy ! with seven 
people, most of them ignorant people, to direct, 
and control, and harmonize ? Easy ! with the 
care of superintending that magnificent mansion 
and of maintaining a correspondingly magnificent 
style of living ? Easy ! under the necessity of 
seeing that all the members of the family are 
brought up to their new level in the matters of 


164 


Odd or Even ? 


dress, accomplishments, and so forth, and kept 
there ? Easy ! under the innumerable demands of 
social intercourse ? If such demands had borne 
heavily upon her in the previous situation, how 
much more heavily do they bear now ? If neglect, 
and careless handling, and moth, and rust, and 
robbery were to be guarded against then, how 
much greater precautions must be taken now that 
silver services furnish the tables, jewels of price 
gleam in toilet cases, furs, silks, and velvets fill 
the wardrobes, wliile every apartment abounds in 
costly articles, some of them as fragile as costly ! 

And, besides the duties thus hastily glanced at, 
mother suddenly becomes aware that her position 
as a woman of wealth has yet other demands upon 
her — other, and higher. These demands are first 
made clear to her in a sermon on that subject 
preached by her own pastor — by my own pastor. 
I will drop the third person here, for the case I 
have been following is in the main my own. The 
preaching of my own pastor aroused me. You 
who have wealth,” said he, in substance, “ are re- 
sponsible for its use. You are freed from the 
necessity of labor ; see to it that the time thus 
gained is not frittered away in the frivolities of a 
merely fashionable life. To joii in a special man- 


Odd or Even ? 


i6s 


ner belongs the duty of high culture. Read, study, 
reflect. Store your minds with the best thoughts 
of the best writers. Those whose days are con- 
sumed by toil, have no time for these things. An- 
other of your special duties is that of upholding 
Art for its own sake. For you have the means of^ 
purchasing its products, and can, if you choose, 
acquire the knowledge which will enable you to 
appreciate them. 

‘‘ Another of the duties of your position is, that 
you do something for the benefit of those who are 
crushed down by poverty, or ignorance, or sin. 
Make your influence an elevating one. Let your 
sympatliies flow out in every direction. Relieve 
the deserving poor, assist the unfortunate, befriend 
the friendless ; think and plan for the good of 
those who are too low in the scale of humanity to 
think and plan for themselves. 

‘‘And do not withdraw yourselves from your 
own children, giving them up wholly to the care of 
those whose influence upon character may be any- 
thing but good — your children need you — you, 
yourself. It is another of your duties to get en- 
lightenment upon all subjects connected with the 
training of children.” 

Such were some of the ideas of the sermon. I 


Odd or Even? 


1 66 

have tried hard to follow its teachings, especially 
the last ; but if you knew the demands made upon 
my time, you would see how it is, that often when 
I fain would give myself to my children, I find that 
myself is not at my own disposal. 

Neither are the children always at my disposal : 
they have their lessons to be taken, their compan- 
ions to meet, their parties to attend, their enter- 
tainments public and private. Sometimes I look 
back with longing to the day of the log-hut period, 
when my older children were mere toddlers and 
prattlers. I could at almost any time gather them 
about me, and I had them and my husband to my- 
self ; for there w^ere no outside interests to draw us 
apart. The kinds of excitement which city life 
brings to the children are not so good for them as 
were those of the log-hut life. Those were simple 
and healthful, yet pleasing : going a-nutting, mak- 
ing playthings, learning to ride and to drive, caring 
for a pet lamb, seeing the bossy, hunting for eggs, 
counting the new brood, watching the birds, and 
the return of the wild-fowl, and the blossoming of 
each fiower in its season. 

Yes, in that simple life were some desirable 
things which all our wealth cannot bring to the 
city mansion. We had pure air, plenty of sun- 


Odd or Even i 


167 


shine, natural objects, and delightful scenery. The 
attachment between ourselves and our domesticated 
creatures amounted, in some cases, to close friend- 
ship. We had flour made from our own grain, 
fresh vegetables, undiluted milk, luscious cream, 
sweet butter, new-laid eggs. Sometimes I think 
that these healthful articles of diet, and the pure 
air, sunshine, flne scenery, and living face to face 
and heart to heart with Nature (counting in, also, 
freedom from society restraints and demands, and 
city evil influences) are almost too great a price to 
pay even for all we have since gained. As for time, 
I never had less than this present situation affords 
me. If you like, I will send you an account of one 
of my days. It will not be as entertaining as Mrs. 
Lammerkin’s, but possibly it may help to show you 
the general evenness of tilings. 

Respectfully yours. 

Beacon Street Wojvian. 


XX. 


THE BEACON STREET WOMAN’S ACCOUNT. 

To THE Bybury Gathering : 

I promised you an account of one of my days ; 
and I will take yesterday — Tuesday, because,” 
as Mrs. Lammerkin says, its events are fresh in 
mind.” 

I arose early, hoping to make my morning visit 
to the nursery a long one. Upon opening the 
nursery door, I found the two children, Minnie 
and Jack, taking in molasses candy, not only at 
their mouths, but through all the pores of the 
skin-surface left visible by their clothing. Minnie 
had ominous news, which she fired at me, so to 
speak, in one swift utterance. Last night Jack 
went down with Norah to get a pan to put the 
candy in ; and when Norah was finding the pan, 
she found some bread and cake and sugar, done up 
in a paper, and Norah asked Margaret” — the 
laundress — ‘‘and Margaret told Norah that cook 


i68 


The Beacon Street Womans Accoujit. 169 


put them there to cany away out : it wasn’t the 
first time ! ” Now tliis cook had been with us long 
enough to learn our ways, our likes and our dis- 
likes, and by many preachments I had brought her 
almost up to the point of considering it a duty to 
cook healthfully. Neat, quick, capable — but no 
matter ! she must go ; and I must again receive 
into my house a stranger ; one whose character and 
capabilities were uncertain. 

I promised the children another visit, and went 
to have a private talk with Margaret. She con- 
firmed the story, and told me where I should find 
another package rolled up in cook’s shawl, which 
package I saw. After breakfast I spoke to cook, 
and gave her the customary week’s warning ; cook 
flew into a rage, and left the house in less than two 
hours ; she probably suspected the informant, for 
she told Norah to tell me that Margaret kept a 
paper of washing-powder hid away, and used it in 
every washing. As it looks reasonable that chemi- 
cals which take out the dirt will likewise take out 
the clothes, I sternly refuse to buy wasliing-powder ; 
]\Iargaret, therefore, must have bought it herself. 
But discretion bid me refrain from giving warning, 
for I knew that our dinner that day depended upon 
the exertions and good-will of Margaret and the 


170 TJie Beacon Street Womans Account, 

chamber-girl, aided by as much of my own assist- 
ance as circumstances might allow me to furnish ; 
besides, another laundress might bring another 
package of washing-powder. 

The children were vociferous in their calls, but 
I had to stay below long enough to hold a kitchen 
consultation about the servants’ dinners and our 
own. Upon going up-stairs, I found my husband 
in the hall, awaiting my coming with some im- 
patience, for he had to catch a certain car, at 
a certain point, or lose a certain man. He said 
he had forgotten to tell me that his aunt Julia had 
sent him word that she was coming soon, and 
wished us to fix the time. He must write certainly 
by the four P. M. mail. I could not, at that mo- 
ment, with his hand upon the door-knob, think 
just what were our engagements ; but said I would 
call at his office on mj^ way to the Intelligence 
Office. He tore down the steps, nearly upsetting a 
woman by the name of Simmons, just then coming 
up-steps with a bundle. Mrs. S. is a poor and not 
very capable woman, who does the plainest of 
my sewing. I examined what she had done, sug- 
gested some improvements in her style, and looked 
up work for another bundle. She left just as the 
expressman arrived with a written list of articles 


The Beacon Street Woman s Accoimt. 171 


needed by my daughter who is away at school, and 
is to act in tableaux. While I was collecting these, 
the postman came. The children were at the head 
of the stairs. I sent them to the nursery, with 
promises, and picked up my letters ; but before I 
could open them, the door-bell rang, and I was told 
that Mrs. Berry wished to see me. Mrs. B. having 
once been my nurse, feels privileged to ask various 
and frequent favors. This time, she wished my 
help in getting her into the Old Woman’s Home. 
She said she supposed that as I had plenty of time, 
it wouldn’t be much of a job for me to see the direc- 
tors. I promised to do all I could for her. After 
she had gone I read my letters : — 

“Dear Madam: 

The Dramatic Exhibition in aid of the Orphan’s Home 
takes place Wednesday evening. Knowing that you have 
both the will and the time to do good, I enclose twelve 
tickets, hoping that you may be able to dispose of them.” 

“My dear Mrs. Enbury: 

Poor Carterston! His is a decided Kjase of genius strug- 
gling with poverty. A few kind words, and especially a few 
purchasers, will work wonders for him. He must be brought 
into notice. I promised to take some of my friends Tuesday 
afternoon to see his pictures. Do come ! Don’t forget that 
you are to lunch with me to-morrow. I have invited Mrs. E. 
and Miss L. C. expressly on 5’'our account.” 


172 The Beacon Street Womans Account. 

“Dearest and best Mrs. Enbury : 

You remember that charming Mrs. Coleman who so per- 
fectly delighted you when you were in Chicago. She will be 
in Boston Tuesday and Wednesday, at Hotel Brunswick. I 
told her you would be only too glad to take the wings of the 
morning, or else of the afternoon, — do afternoons have 
them ? — and fly to welcome her. Of course you will show 
her the Lions, that is, the high-toned ones, especially the 
aesthetic ones, and invite her to your lovely home. 

P. S. Please tell me, by return mail, everything you know 
of a light-and-stifi*-haired young man, with foreign accent, 
who flgured at your perfectly exquisite parties last winter. I 
have reasons for asking.” 

‘ ‘ Mrs. Enbury : 

This^is to remind you that the committee on Free Evening 
Schools meets Tuesday afternoon at 3.30 p. m.” 

Besides these were some family letters, several 
notes of invitation, and a note from the children’s 
dressmaker, saying that she would be here on 
Thursday. This reminded me that there was still 
shopping to be done for them, and also that I was 
to call at Hovey’s that day, at half-past two, to 
have my own dress tried on. 

I answered such letters as required answering, 
then had another kitchen consultation, and then, 
with a view to the dressmaker, went to look over 
the children’s winter clothes. I was in the agonies 


The Beacon Street Woman s Account, 173 


of this research, hurrying to get through in order 
to gain time to continue the practice of that part 
of my pastor’s discourse which enforced the duty 
of storing our minds with the best thoughts of the 
best writers, when a lady’s card was brought to me. 
She is a person I care for, and she came a long dis- 
tance to see me ; so I went down. My next inter- 
ruption was from a stylish lady, the wife of my 
husband’s partner ; not a person I care for, but I 
went down, for fear of giving offence. I have al- 
ready affronted several ladies by refusing to see 
them, or by neglecting to call, though in every 
instance the refusal, or the neglect, was caused 
either by a pressure of duties or lack of physical 
strength. After this lady left, I returned to my 
work, hoping yet to finish that, and do a little read- 
ing, and note down a few facts for the Free Even- 
ing School committee, before lunch-time. We 
lunch at half-past one, and dine at six. But pres- 
ently came Thomas — our man — to say that Mr. 
Lane was below. Mr. Lane is a reformed drunkard 
— a poor broken-down man, who is trying to earn 
an honest living by peddling various small articles. 
I never let him go without seeing him, for it seems 
emphatically one of the duties of my situation to 
show personal kindness to a man like Mr. Lane. 


174 Beacon Street Womans Account. 

My next call was from Bertha’s music teacher. 
She spoke of Bertha’s indolence and carelessness, 
and asked if I could not sit in the room during her 
hours of practice. Not every mother could do this,' 
but as I had plenty of time, etc., etc. 

Just as the music teacher left, there came a 
poorly-dressed, modest-appearing youth, who said 
that he understood we had some rare pictures, and 
would I permit a stranger — who sometimes dab- 
bled in Art himself — the privilege of examining 
them? ^AVith pleasure,” I said, and meant it; 
but not knowing what might be his peculiarities, I 
remained in the room. During his visit there came 
a young woman asking what encouragement I could 
give her in her plan of opening a school in our 
vicinity. After her, two callers, young friends of 
mine, who are forming a German class, and wish 
my daughter Amy to become a member. Next a 
boy, with a scrap of paper hastily written on with 
lead pencil : — 

“ That poor Mrs. Haynes will be turned out unless some- 
thing is done immediately. We must not let a good woman 
like her suffer. I am flat with sick headache. Can’t you see 
her this afternoon? I can’t think of any one who is so likely 
to have the time as you are.” 

Upon the heels of this messenger came the 


The Beacon Street Womans Account. 175 


French woman who is to embroider our new cur- 
tains, bringing patterns and stitches for me to ex- 
amine. Then came the postman with another 
letter. We have frequent letters of this sort, and 
please do not think that it is not a pleasure to 
comply with such requests, for it is. But even 
pleasures take time. 

‘ ‘ Dear Aunt : 

Mother wants to know if you will be kind enough to just 
step into that place in Washington Street, that advertises goods 
so cheap, and see if they’ve got anything good for her a win- 
ter dress, if they have, to get one and send it by express, C. 
O. D. and she will pay you back the money it costs. She 
wants one that’ll be suitable for her age, but not too dull. 
She wants one that will do to wear to meeting the first of it, 
and then put on afternoons. They advertise they’re all wool, 
so don’t get cheated. And hadn’t you just as lief do an errand 
for me? One of the girls I go with is going to get married, 
and I mean to get her a wedding present. I want something 
that is part useful and part ornamental. You can use j’our 
own judgment. About price, I don’t want to go too high, 
and then again I don’t want to be mean. We are no kin, but 
we are very intimate, and mother thinks I ought to go about 
as high as I should for a second cousin. When cousin Anna 
was married — she’s my own — I gave her a sugar spoon, so 
j^ou can judge something by that. It was solid. Mother’s 
dressmaker’s coming the last of the week. She says she 
wouldn’t ask you — and no wouldn’t I — if she thought 
’twould be any put out to you, but she know# you have lots 


176 TJie Beacon Street Womaii s Account. 

of time, and are always going by the shops, but she’ll be 
much obliged to you all the same — and so shall I. 

P. S. Sammy’s got a composition to write, and he wants 
to know, when you’re going by the Public Library, if you 
won’t just step in and see how many kinds of Deers there 
are, — meaning animals, — and where they belong, and what 
their principal habits are, for he’s going to try for the prize.” 

This account is already so long that I must give 
the remainder hurriedly, and in an abrupt style, which 
I pray you to excuse. Made notes of my niece’s 
errands ; spent twenty minutes Avith the children 
— some things in their talk convinced me that they 
are getting from Norah much that is bad ; lunched 
early, by myself, drove down town, and called at 
my husband’s office. He had stepped out to meet 
a man, but had left a note asking me to wait, as he 
wished me to go with him to see a shoemaker who 
makes shoes of a kind likely to fit Jack, who has 
weak ankles. He informed me that he had been 
under the business necessity of asking a gentleman 
to dinner that day. Waited for husband five min- 
utes. Looked in newspaper to find number of the 
cheap store on Washington Street. Wrote note 
concerning Aunt Julia, also saying that I was 
obliged to leave, and that I would see about Jack’s 
shoes the ne^t day or day after. 


The Beacon Street Womans Account. 177 


Went directly to the Intelligence Office. Long 
detention. Reached Hovey’s late ; another woman 
trying on ; must wait a few minutes ; stepped be- 
low to look at goods ; not quite enough of kind 
selected ; clerk ran up to hunt a whole piece, stayed 
a great while ; up-stairs again, another woman try- 
ing on ; made appointment for next day ; drove to 
North End, saw poor Mrs. Haynes ; long detention 
there. Drove to Chambers Street — committee- 
meeting nearly over : stated some facts and heard 
some. Drove to Tremont Street, and looked in at 
Carterston’s studio to say that I would come next 
day or day after. Drove to Hotel Brunswick, 
calling at cheap store on the way. While going up 
the Hotel Brunswick steps, recollected that I had 
promised to be home at half-past five to inspect and 
give a few last touches to the dinner ; consulted 
watch : just time to reach home (decided that after- 
noons do have wings). Saw the Chicago Charmer, 
gave reasons for haste, engaged her to dine with us 
next day ; drove home, found some things going 
badly, but the essentials rightly, ordered dinner, de- 
layed fifteen minutes ; ran up to my room, made 
myseK presentable ; ran down-stairs, introduced to 
two gentlemen guests. 

Movement to dining-room, loud ring at the 


iy8 The Beacofi Street Womans Accoimt, 

door-bell, a summons to the reception room, Aunt 
Julia with travelling-bag. Said she saw notice of 
meetings to begin next day, so thought she would 
start and come. Knew it couldn’t be any put out 
where there was so much house-room and so much 
help kept. Hoped I would go to some of the meet- 
ings with her. Dear, good woman ! I shall do my 
best to go to some of the meetings with her. And 
here let me say that it would break my heart if she 
and others of our relatives should stay away for 
fear of giving us trouble. I want them to come ; 
it gives me real pleasure to oblige them in any 
way ; but, in making out this account, it is neces- 
sary, if possible, to give a specimen of all the duties 
incident to my present position. This is not pos- 
sible. Their number is legion. They diverge and 
converge, and clash, and crowd and run over each 
other. In a large family like ours, every member 
of which must be kept, so to speak, up to the level 
of the situation, demands upon the mother are in- 
cessant. In a large establishment like ours there 
is always something in some department which 
needs my personal and instant attention. Among 
the large number of servants required by such an 
establishment, there are always some who cannot 
be borne with, or who must be borne with. In a 


The Beacon Street Womajts Account. 179 


large acquaintance like ours, are always some, 
usually many, to whom and from whom calls and 
invitations are due. In a large city like ours, are 
always coming and going those who really need 
our kind attentions. Also, a city like ours has al- 
ways a class of unfortunates, who, for humanity’s 
sake, ought to be dear to us ; people crushed by 
poverty or ignorance, or sin, whose claims upon us 
are none the less strong that they are powerless to 
urge those claims. 

My account is hastily written, and therefore im- 
perfect ; but it may serve to show what I meant by 
the general evenness of things. Where much is 
given, much is required, whether of wealth, or 
genius, or power to rule. 

[Signed] Beacon Steeet Woivian. 


XXI. 


SOCIETY. — A FEW MORE WORDS FROM BEACON 
STREET. 

To THE Bybury Gathering: 

Ladies and Gientlemen : — Before sending you 
my account, I read it to my husband. 

‘‘ Pity the sorrows of a poor rich woman ! ” he 
exclaimed, at the end. 

‘‘It is very well to say that,” I answered ; “but 
who will do it ? The destitute classes get pity and 
help and advice. But who will pity us — amelio- 
rate our sorrows — devise plans for our relief ? ” 

“ You ladies must form an Amelioration Society,” 
said he. “ Here’s a suggestion for you to start 
with : Let each lady have a certain day, or part of 
a day, in which to receive callers, and refuse to see 
them at other times.” 

“ I tried that way, for a while,” said I ; “but it 
had its disadvantages. The ceremonious callers, 
with nothing particular to say — and saying it — 
180 


Society. 


i8i 


and the people whom I was anxious to see, were 
liable to come together. And some of these latter 
had often on that day engagements of their own. 
Some of them lived out of town ; coming in at 
such times as suited their convenience or necessi- 
ties. If they did not happen to hit my day, I 
missed seeing them.” 

Here is another plan,” said husband. “ It may 
not wipe away your sorrows entirely, but it will 
ameliorate them. Suppose it were an established 
rule, that, up to the hour of — say twelve, the lady 
of the house shall not be interrupted with callers, 
except in extreme cases? Suppose it were gen- 
erally understood that, until the time agreed upon, 
her time is given to her family and her own pur- 
suits ? At any rate, this would leave you some 
hours free from the merely ceremonious callers, 
with their nothing in particular to say.” ^ 

A very good idea,” said I. ‘‘ But I wish we 
weren’t obliged to have this kind of callers, nor 
obliged to make ceremonious calls, ourselves.” 

‘‘ Oh ! these are all a part of ‘ society,’ you know,” 
said husband ; ‘‘ when we are in ‘ society,’ we must 
do as ‘ society ’ does.” 

“ I don’t like the way ‘ society ’ is put together,” 
said I. ‘‘ I wish it might be knocked to pieces and 


t 82 


Society. 


built up on a different basis. Its present basis is 
money. Those who can afford to support a cer- 
tain grand style of living, associate. Suppose a 
rich man and a poor man, both equally good and 
bright and companionable, and but little known, 
move into a place and settle down. The first peo- 
ple — so called — of the place take no notice of 
the poor man, but to the rich man and his family 
they are prompt in their attentions. They say to 
them, practically, ‘You can live in our style, there- 
fore we desire your acquaintance.’ Now, I don’t 
see the force of this therefore. I don’t think it 
follows at all that because a lady has a fine house, 
rich clothing, costly jewels, elegant upholstery, to- 
gether with silver and china and such, that I should 
therefore find her a desirable companion, or that 
any lady, for this kind of therefore, should find me 
one. Every day, ladies call upon me for no other 
reason than that I possess all these things, and I 
call upon them for no other reason than that they 
possess them. We have little in common. The 
ideas, the books, the people, the plans which in- 
terest me, do not interest them ; those which inter- 
est them, have no special attractions for me.” 

“Yet all human beings have something in com- 
mon,” said husband. 


‘‘ You never said a truer tiling than that,” said 
I ; but my point is, the absurdity of dividing 
human beings into squads, or sets, according to 
their money. There is no sense in such a divis- 
ion. It is not a natural one. Let those who are 
naturally attracted come together. At present, 
^ society ’ stands in the way of this. I know sev- 
eral ladies whose talk would interest me, and help 
me, too ; but I don’t know just how to get those 
ladies for my associates. There are Mrs. W. and 
one or two others, wTo belong to our parish sewing- 
circle. They dress plainly, and, very likely, do 
their own work ; but they are brimful of ideas and 
wit and benevolence and good humor ; and for in- 
born delicacy and refinement, I hardly know their 
equals. I wish they would invite me to their 
houses.” 

Why don’t you invite them to yours ? ” hus- 
band asked. 

“ There are objections in the way of that,” said 
I. If they should meet with ‘ society ’ people 
here, things might not run smoothly. Certain of 
our acquaintances, polite as they fancy themselves, 
would treat them with scant civility, speak to them 
in a patronizing way, make them feel themselves 
out of place. ‘ Society ’ politeness often puts me in 


184 


Society. 


mind of a cake my mother once made to give away. 
The plums were forgotten in the making, and so 
were stuck into the crust, after the baking. The 
cake was carried by my little brother, and was re- 
ceived with thanks and admiration. ‘But the 
plums don’t go all the way through ! ’ cried my 
little brother. It is about the same with a great 
deal of ‘ society ’ politeness — the plums don’t go 
all the way through. Politeness of the heart is the 
kind for me. I wish there were more of it.” 

“ Why don’t you invite these desirable ladies by 
themselves ? ” husband asked. 

“ That,” said I, “ would look like a sort of fencing- 
off. Their inference might be : ‘We are not good 
enough to come with the rich folk ; she has us by 
ourselves.’ And besides, I have no right to invite 
them. Our slight acquaintance does not warrant 
me in taking that liberty. I wish I were going to 
Mrs. W.’s this very evening. Those friends of 
hers are to be there, and I know what they are 
meaning to talk about : it is a subject in which I 
am deeply interested. Their evening has an idea 
to it. But what is my evening to be ? I go in 
gorgeous array, and meet other women in gorgeous 
array. They look at my clothes, and I look at 
theirs. We talk politely about nothing. The 


Society. 


i8s 

rooms are spacious, the furnishing magnificent, the 
lights brilliant; the dresses elegant, the manners 
are polished, every voice has the true society accent ; 
but, somehow, the whole thing is unsatisfying. 
There is no idea to it, no depth — it is all surface 
work. The plums don’t go all the way through.” 

‘‘ But evenings would be too prosy if they all 
had ideas to them,” said husband ; we don’t want 
to be always pondering upon serious matters ; we 
want some fun.” 

The very thing ! ” said I. In speaking of 
evenings with ideas to them, I meant evenings with 
something really enjoyable. This something need 
not always be serious. Wit, humor, bright talk, 
spirited games, any evening which gave us these, 
would have an idea' to it. These are plums, and 
of a good kind, too. But some of us don’t often 
get them. We are hedged in from them by ‘so- 
ciety ’ red tape, ‘ society ’ style, ‘ society ’ manners 
and customs. And this ‘ society ’ is held together 
by money. The society which is held together by 
money or position, is not society at all. It is only 
a coming in contact. We meet, not heart to heart, 
but purse to purse. I wish matters were so ar- 
ranged that those interested in the same ideas and 
objects, and who are otherwise mutually attracted, 


Society. 


1 86 

might come together. Where two people are con- 
versing, each responsive to the other, each getting 
something from the other, each drawn to the other 
by qualities of mind and character, what difference 
can it make that one has a hundi-ed thousand dol- 
lars, and the other not a hundred ? This consider- 
ation has no bearing upon the matter whatever.” 

To be sure it hasn’t,” said husband ; but 
your new kind of society, your society based on the 
broad foundation of ideas and character and natural 
attraction, will not be built up in our day. Gold 
is king, and there are few who will not bow be- 
fore it.” 

I know it,” said I ; “ and I do think this uni- 
versal deference to wealth is abominable ! In the 
case of the rich man and poor man, supposed just 
now, the two were represented as being, in other 
respects, equal. Let us suppose the poor man to 
be exceptionally worthy and intelligent and com- 
panionable, and the rich man exceptionaly unworthy 
and stupid and unattractive, perhaps immoral. To 
him, still, will be given the attentions and the 
deference of those first people ; that is, generally 
speaking.” 

True,” said husband ; but I want to make a 
point here. This universal deference, of which we 


Society. 


187 

speak, is it paid wholly to the money ? Is it not 
paid partly to the skill and energy by which the 
money was gained ? ” 

There may be sometliing in this,” said I ; still, 
a man who, after having amassed a fortune, is re- 
duced to poverty, even if it be through causes be- 
yond his control, is not usually courted, and fawned 
upon and deferred to ; and, on the other hand, the 
man who gains vast wealth by merely inheriting it, 
is not usually slighted or avoided.” 

“Well, I have another point,” said husband. 
“ In the case of your rich man, the attentions and 
the deference would have come not only from these 
first families, but from the second, third, fifth, tenth. 
These would all show by manners, speech and ac- 
tions, their own exalted opinion of wealth. Even 
your Mrs. W., good and bright and delightful and 
superior as she is, if sitting by us at this moment 
in familiar conversation, would be sure to betray, 
in some way, that she considered the familiarity an 
honor to herself, — and all because we are rich, and 
she is not.” 

“ If she supposed that we ourselves so considered 
it, she would do us a wrong,” said I. 

“ That is one of the wrongs which many of the 
rich have to suffer,” said husband. “ They are sup- 


i88 


Society. 


posed to feel grander than they do feel, to think 
more of money and less of merit than they do 
think. But even some rich people have common 
sense.” 

“ Still, as a general thing,” said I, ‘‘ I think that 
rich people have given poor people cause to feel as 
you say Mrs. W. would feel.” 

Our talk was interrupted here ; but I wish your 
Gathering would take up this subject of deference 
to wealth, and either talk about it, or have a paper 
written upon it. I would like exceedingly to get 
your views of the matter. 

Very truly yours, 

Bbacok Steeet Womak. 


XXII. 


GO INTO THE HOUSE WHEN IT RAINS. 

A PAPER READ AT A BYBURY GATHERING BY 
THE BYBURY SCHOOL]yiA’A]SI. 

I HAVE been asked (said Miss Hunt) to comply 
with Mrs. Enbury’s suggestion, and write something 
on the subject of Deference to Wealth. 

You will find my text in the last part of an old 
saying: “Go into the house when it rains.” The 
discourse will not start from its text, but will ar- 
rive at it. 

Mrs. Enbury, in her last communication, spoke 
of “society” people, as a class, fenced in, set apart. 
This reminded me of a remark I once heard made 
by a " society ” young lady. She was past the first 
flush of youth, well educated, cultured, and, to a 
considerable degree, scientific. I mention these as 
being conditions under which one might expect to 
And the gold of common sense. We were fellow- 
boarders, and I really felt grateful to her for af- 


189 


190 Go Into the House Whe 7 i it Rains. 

fording me so much entertainment. The way in 
which she graduated her manners, for instance, 
was vastly amusing. To those above her in the 
society ” scale she was deferential ; to her equals, 
cordial; to those a very little below, affable; to 
those just outside the charmed circle, condescend- 
ing ; to those far outside, frigid. 

But now comes the curious part of the matter. 
The very people who laughed at or were affronted 
at her for looking down on them did themselves 
look down on others, and these on others, and 
these on others, and so on. And this is the case 
generally. The kind of people who rank number 
two, or lower, in the city, are often among the 
number ones of the towns, associating on equal 
terms only with those of their own social standing, 
and patronizing, or condescending to, or holding 
aloof from, the lower grades, so called. Either 
directly or indirectly their children are taught to 
consider themselves as being in some way set apart. 
They must walk and talk and play and study only 
with their set. There must be separate schools for 
them — select, private. If this were to secure more 
satisfactory teaching, well and good. But often the 
avowed object is that our children need not associ- 
ate with everybody's children. Now a friend of 


Go Into the House When it Rains, 191 


mine, who has taught schools made up of our chil- 
dren and schools made up of everybody’s children, 
tells me that the average of character was about the 
same in both. There was no despicable trait, no 
wickedness, no vice even, among the latter that 
was not also found among the former. It is true 
that among everybody’s children may be found 
some who are rough in speech and manners, but 
these startling and repulsive exhibitions are more 
likely to repel than to attract our children. The 
worst danger comes not from these, but from evil 
influences which work unnoticed. 

By this fencing off at school, and by certain 
other ways, our children, and especially our girls 
are made to grow up into the belief that they are 
formed of a superior kind of clay, and this belief 
affects their behavior even on occasions when they 
and everybody’s children meet on what is supposed 
to be common ground. A country town needs, say 
a new hall, or a clock, or a fountain, and to com- 
plete the necessary funds, sociables ” are held, 
which the whole town is asked to attend and sup- 
port, the idea being that all who do attend come 
together sociably and on an equal footing. Among 
the girls present are some of our children, now in 
the beginning of their teens. It is curious to ob- 


4 


192 Go Into the House When it Rains. 

serve how, even at that tender age, they show the 
spirit of caste. It is shown in various ways : by 
smiles, glances, and rude whisperings ; by a gath- 
ering up of the skirts when any of the “ low ” 
people come near, and by a marked avoidance of 
contact with ‘‘low” people, whether in sitting, 
standing, or dancing. 

Usually they are encouraged in this behavior by 
home influences, if not by direct home teachings. 
Says dainty little Miss Geraldine Matilda X., in 
family circle next morning : 

“ That great lubberly, stupid Dick Hopkins, that 
used to work in our garden, asked me to dance 
with him ! The idea ! Of course I refused.” 

“Not quite the thing, perhaps, in a social assem- 
blage,” says pa, “ but I don’t much blame you.” 

“ One has to meet that sort of people in promis- 
cuous gatherings,” says ma. 

“ He had on quite good-looking clothes, but 
nothing will ever be made of him,” says Auntie. 

Now if this stupid and lubberly Dick had been 
the son of a millionaire Miss Geraldine Matilda 
would probably not have refused to dance with 
him, or if she had, the home authorities would not 
have sanctioned the refusal. 

“Why, my dear, he can’t help his looks, you 


Go Into the House When it Rains. 193 


know. He may not be quite as bright as some, 
but he should not be slighted on that account. 
We ought to be careful of people’s feelings. One 
should not think of one’s own pleasure altogether.” 

Excellent sentiments ! Far too excellent to be 
restricted to the narrow limits of a clique. Applied 
to the Dick Hopkins case they might be expressed 
somewhat in this way : “ It is better that one should 
suffer fifteen minutes’ discomfort, or even to soil 
one’s gloves, than to run the risk of hurting a per- 
son’s feelings.” 

Yes, the application of these sentiments should 
be as wide as humanity. “ Behind every face is a 
heart, you know ” — emphasis on second word. 
This takes in all: the stupid, the ungainly, the 
poverty-stricken, even the wicked. Behind every 
face is a heart to feel. Those who perceive this 
truth and are guided by it need never study the 
art of politeness. Their politeness will not be an 
art ; it will be natural. It will show itself sponta- 
neously, and to the lowly as well as to the lofty. 
A rose by the side of a ditch is still a rose, and 
can’t be anything less. So the politeness of a man 
or a woman, or a schoolgirl or a schoolboy, if it be 
genuine, will reveal itself in the hovel as surely as 
in the palace. 


194 Go Into the House When it Rains. 

“ I hear your brother is going to build a house ; 
can he afford it?” asked a well-to-do lady of a shop 
girl with whom she had a slight acquaintance. 
The lady would not have presumed to ask such a 
question of a person of her own standing, suppos- 
ing the degree of acquaintanceship to have been 
the same. This assumption of superiority is often 
seen in the behavior of those who are endeavoring 
to assist the poor by visiting, by free evening 
schools, free entertainments, etc. The I-am-better- 
than-thou spirit shows itself in every tone, look, 
word, and movement. They reach out a helping 
hand, but they make a very long arm, in doing it. 
They feel for the poor, but not with them. 

I have a friend who supports herself and her 
mother by sewing. A gentleman of her town — a 
smooth, affable gentleman, punctilious in etiquette 
within certain social limits — called to see her on a 
matter of business, and kept his hat on during the 
whole interview. She had not money enough to 
raise it from his head. What a lever money is, to 
be sure ! My friend is not a person to be disturbed 
by anything of the sort ; but oh! this spirit of caste, 
how I do hate and detest it ! It is not confined to 
the wealthy. Dick Hopkins and his set and the 
shop girl and her set have each, probably, a set 


Go Into the House When it Rains. 195 


below them of whom they speak as that sort of 
people. In complaining of the caste spirit, we are 
much more likely to look above to see how it works 
down upon ourselves, than below to see how it 
works from ourselves down upon others. 

But, speaking of deference to wealth, did you 
ever notice how, in a country town, the opinion of 
tliis or that rich man is quoted from mouth to 
mouth ? “ ’Squire X. says thus and so.” This is 

enough to insure “ thus and so ” a respectable con- 
sideration. ’Squire X. belongs to the number ones, 
and, though he may possess even less judgment, 
learning, and intelligence than some of the number 
twos, threes and fours, yet the light from his gold 
shines upon his opinion and so illuminates and 
transfigures it that it seems worthy of all admira- 
tion. A bow, a smile, a handshake, from the great 
man, how some of his poorer fellow mortals enjoy 
them, and boast of them, and treasure the remem- 
brance of them! And, on the other hand, the 
slights he gives — often unintentionally, such, for 
instance, as absence of recognition on the street, 
how much is made of them I Coming from each 
other they would scarcely be noticed, but coming 
from him they rankle and fester, and are seldom 
forgotten. All these — the keen enjoyment, the 


196 Go Into the House When it Rains. 

boasting, the rankling, the festering — betray def- 
erence to wealth. “ A man’s a man, for a’ that,” 
and character makes the man, and if you divide 
the community according to character the dividing 
line will not run horizontally along any one level, 
but up and down, cutting right through caste 
boundaries, from low to high and high to low. 

All very well, you say, and we knew it before, 
but this absurd deference still remains. The evil 
exists ; how will you cure it ? 

The only cure I can think of is self-respect. I 
don’t mean self-sufficiency or self-assertion, or any- 
tliing of that sort. I mean a respect for and a de- 
votion to one’s own objects in life. If we are sure 
of our own integrity, and if we have consecrated 
our lives to certain worthy objects, what will it 
matter to us whether a rich man’s hat is in his hand 
or on his head, or whether a rich woman invites us 
or slights us? We are living not for their notice 
or deference, but for purposes of our own. From 
their slights, frowns, incivilities, rudenesses, conde- 
scensions, insults, we can always take refuge in 
ourselves. We can go into the house when it 
rains. The whole of the saying is, ‘‘He doesn’t 
know enough to go into the house when it rains.” 
Just so. There are some who do not know enough ; 


Go Into the House When it Rains. 197 


yes, and some who have no house. People, I mean, 
whose lives are not consecrated to any worthy pur- 
poses; who have set up for themselves no high 
mark to attain ; who take no thought for the wel- 
fare of others ; whose chief anxiety is to make a 
good appearance, to keep in the fashion, to support 
a certain style ; who watch and wait to take their 
cue from the number ones, endeavoring always to 
conduct as certain of these would think was 
proper, never daring to assert their own opinions 
— perhaps having none to assert. That people 
like these are elated or depressed by the smiles or 
slights of the X. family is unavoidable, for they 
have nothing in themselves to fall back upon. But 
the other kind — those who dare to have ideas of 
their own, who have their life-work marked out, 
and who are striving to do something really worth 
doing both for themselves and for others — these 
will live and move and have their being, and 
find happiness, too, independent of ’Squire X., or 
Madam X., or of Miss Geraldine Matilda, 


XXIII. 


COlVIMOlSrALITIES. — A PAPER BEAD AT A BYBIJBY 
GATHERING, BY MARY ANN POTTER. 

When Miss Hunt told us, the other evening, 
that the average of character is about the same in 
the rich and the poor, it oqcurred to me that the 
same thing might be said of enjoyment, and not 
only so, but that often the enjoyments of the rich and 
of the poor are alike in kind. Perhaps it is worth 
while to make a note of these ; yes, it is. Any- 
thing is worth while which helps to knock down 
partition walls and bring people together on the 
common ground of humanity. 

To begin with, suppose we mention the own 
folks pleasure. How delightful it is when own 
folks meet at family gatherings ! At Thanksgiv- 
ing, for instance; Thanksgiving at the old farm- 
house. A homely place, but still home, and dear 
to many for that reason. Those who can do so go 
the day before and have the pleasure of watching, 


198 


Co7nmo7ialities . 


199 


and waiting, and wondering. Will Aunt Celia’s 
baby get well soon enough? Can Cousin Ben 
leave his store in the city? Will Aunt Anna’s 
school close in time? Will Uncle Jack take pains 
to travel two days and a night? 

When the day actually arrives, the excitement is 
at its height. Not quite at its height, though, for 
it grows higher with every fresh arrival. Aunt 
Celia’s baby did get well, and here he is, rosy as a 
posy, and childi*en of all sizes, from two feet high 
to six feet inclusive, are admiring and worsliiping 

— grandpa and grandma wiping misty spectacles 

— and Ben did leave his store, and Aunt Anna’s 
school did close in time, and at the last moment, 
before dinner. Uncle Jack, who has been given up, 
but who did take pains to travel two days and a 
night, bursts in, unexpectedly, and joy abounds, 
and those who have no spectacles wipe their eyes 
instead. 

There are similar goings on at Squire X.’s, the 
great man of the town, but, though in these two 
places the surroundings differ, the kind of happi- 
ness enjoyed does not. 

Across the field stands a small, dingy house, 
scarcely more than a hovel. The old couple who 
live there are awaiting the arrival of their two 


200 


Commonalities, 


daughters, who work out at a distant town. The 
father and mother aie as poor as poverty, but by 
much scrimping they have managed to place upon 
their table, that day, something that will pass for a 
Thanksgiving dinner. It is almost noon. Oh I if 
they should not come after all. But they will. 
There they are! Father and mother meet them at 
the door. What? misty glasses again? Yes; 
tears of joy are here, too. Poverty cannot keep 
those down. They well up from the heart, and 
“ behind every face is a heart, you know.” 

But, besides these meetings of kin with kin, 
there are the delightful seasons spent with relations 
who are no kin at all ; that is, no flesh and blood 
kin. Heart and soul relations these are, and the 
nobler the hearts and souls the more intensely de- 
lightful the relationship. Among the enjoyments 
common to all we must give high place to the 
kind which comes from the intercourse of these no 
kin relations; congenial spirits, interested in the 
same ideas, actuated alike by unselfish purposes, 
devoted alike to noble objects, showing the same 
enthusiasm, the same worship of genius, the same 
delight in the beautiful, and the true, and the 
grand, the same sympathy with suffering in all its 
forms, and the same longing to relieve it. Rela- 


Commonalities. 


201 


tionship of this kind needs no Family-Tree, no 
attested record of birth and parentage; it is re- 
vealed by simple tokens, a glance of the eye, a 
flush of the cheek, a modulation of the voice, a 
pressure of the hand. 

Along with these precious no kin relations, 
whom we have the delight of meeting face to face, 
must be mentioned others of the same kind, whom 
we never saw, and from whom we are separated by 
space or time, perhaps by a great deal of one or 
the other; perhaps by thousands of miles, or by thou- 
sands of years. But we have been introduced to 
them by the inventor of printing, and we ought to 
go down on our bended knees to him for that same. 
Through his letters of introduction we are made 
acquainted with, oh ! how many, whom, because of 
their purity, or their sweetness, or their greatness, 
or their sacrifices for humanity, it is a blessing to 
know. What an inspiration to us are their lives, 
these noble ones, these royal ones of the race! 
Obliterate all knowledge of them, and how poor 
and barren the world would seem. The degree of 
our relationship to them depends upon the degree 
to which our natures respond to theirs ; but there 
is seldom a human heart wliich feels no thrill of 
pleasure at a tale of noble men and noble deeds. 


202 


Commonalities. 


and this pleasure is of the same kind, whether the 
heart throbs beneath cloth of gold or homespun 
gray. It makes up a part of the enjoyment derived 
from books, and this, by the way, should be men- 
tioned as one by itself among our enjoyments, 
common to all. A well-told story; a beautiful 
thought beautifully expressed ; a keen stroke of 
wit ; a delicious bit of humor ; interesting knowl- 
edge, whether of ourselves or of anything else in 
creation ; the pleasure got from these is not graded 
on any money scale. And think what a pleasure 
it is ! But we cannot. We can form no idea of 
the blank which would be left were this suddenly 
stricken out. Even in fiction there are characters ; 
yes, many characters whose loss would make the 
world poorer. 

The enjoyment of beauty, as shown in nature, is 
another with which money has no concern. It is 
spontaneous. Ii^ looking at a rose, for instance, 
or a pond lily, or a spray of mayflowers, we do not 
stop to decide whether we will or will not admire 
these. The admiration comes of itself. It is the 
response which our sense of the beautiful gives to 
beauty. We are pleased without our consent, and 
certainly without any help from our purses. And 
as with flowers so with other natural objects, the 


Commonalities, 


201 


tracery of branches against the sky, the curve of 
the stream, the verdure of its banks, the varied 
picture of woods, and fields, and hills, the blue of 
the heavens, the grandeur of the ocean, the glory 
of sunsets. 

I don’t know why has been kept to the last the 
highest and best of all enjoyments, that of giving 
enjoyment. If all others fail, this endures. Though 
we have no kindred, no congenial associates, no 
books, though from excess of grief, we may say of 
beautiful things, “ there is no pleasure in them,” 
yet, the pleasure of giving pleasure, and of being 
of service to others, is still left us ; and so long as 
there are the sick who need attentions, the afflicted 
who need sympathy, the unfortunate who need to 
be comforted, the downfallen who need encourage- 
ment, and lonely ones in need of companionship, 
nobody’s life need be joyless. Even the invalid, 
confined to his bed or his chaii^ may still take 
thought for others, and may, unconsciously, be of 
service to others, by making himself an example 
of patience and often of cheerfulness. 

At the close of this paper Miss ’Cindy started a 
conversation upon it, by exclaiming, “Now, it 
seems to me that Mary Ann’s list of enjoyments 
takes in the very best ones there are ! ” 


XXIV. 


FASHION. 

“When we were little girls,” said Miss ’Cindy, 
“ Mary Ann and I used sometimes to amuse our- 
selves by supposing. We supposed that certain 
things did not exist, and then imagined the con- 
sequences. Suppose there were no ocean, no moon, 
no birds, no school-teacher, no grass, no stores. 
Now suppose that we grown-up children amuse 
ourselves by supposing what if there was no such 
thing as Fashion ! ” 

“We should lose lots and lots of pretty things 
and pretty ways of doing things,” said Miss Luce. 

“And dear me ! ” cried Mattie Johnson, “what a 
muddle we should be in ! Nobody would know 
how to have anything made, we should all go on 
at our own heads, and as likely as not make frights 
of ourselves. It won’t do to run a tilt against 
beauty. You know Mary Ann’s paper said we are 
made to like it, and must like it.” 


204 


Fashion, 


205 


“ But beauty and fashion are not the same,” 
said Mary Ann ; many of the fashions seem ugly . 
until we have become used to them.” 

‘‘ Still, it must be allowed that we do gain some 
really pretty things by this everlasting striving 
after something new,” said Miss Luce ; “ think of 
the lovely artificial fiowers, and ribbons, and shades 
of ribbons, and dress goods, and shades of dress 
goods ! ” 

“ I don’t admit that we need be under obliga- 
tion to fashion for these,” said Miss Hunt. “ Even 
were there no such thing as fashion, the makers of 
such articles would be constantly trying to pro- 
duce new kinds, just as painters are constantly 
trying to produce new pictures. The painter 
strives to make also a better picture. And no 
doubt these others would strive more than they 
now do to improve in their work, if the demand 
were not chiefly for something new. So the chances 
are that if there were no such thing as fashion we 
should get more of real beauty in design and 
workmanship than we get now. And there would 
be no lack of variety, for all the numerous design- 
ers and artists would have each his or her own 
ideas to work out, and besides there would be very 
many different tastes to please.” 


2o6 


Fashion, 


“No such thing as fashion?” said Eunice Hart- 
man, speaking low, and knitting her brows thought- 
fully. “Excuse me for repeating your words, but 
I cannot conceive the possibility of such a condi- 
tion. No watching and waiting to find out what 
they are going to wear? No labor of bringing 
old clothes into new style ? Entire deliverance 
— entire — from the fear of the shame of looking 
old-fashioned ? Buy and make our clothes just as 
suits our own means, our own tastes, our own con- 
venience, and even wear our old ones as long 
as we please ? Enjoy all this freedom and not be 
called singular ? Why, it is utterly beyond me to 
imagine myself being let loose to an extent like 
that ! ” and Eunice drew a long breath at the bare 
idea of such an escape. 

“ This is what we may call the rule of individ- 
uality in dress,” said Miss Hunt. “ Governed by 
this rule all persons will clothe themselves as they 
individually can, or please, or must. When there’s 
no such thing as fashion it will not be singular to 
follow this rule ; it will be exceedingly plural, for 
everybody will do so.” 

“I wish everybody were doing so now,” said 
Miss ’Cindy. “ I think a w^alk through the streets 
of a town would be far more entertaining if the 


Fashion, 


207 


men and women were dressed very much unlike, 
than now when they dress very much alike.” 

“I remember reading of Thoreau,” said Miss 
Hunt, ‘‘ that once when he gave a tailor directions 
for making him a suit of clothes he demurred, and 
said: ‘But they don’t make them that way.’ ‘I 
know it,’ said Thoreau, ‘ but they’re going to.’ ” 

“ While we are supposing,” said Mary Ann, 
“ let us suppose what would be the gain if the time 
and thought and labor spent in cities, towns and 
villages in keeping up with the fashions were set 
free and given to better things; given, say, to 
literature, to the study of the sciences, to out- 
doors employments, to painting, music, sculpture, to 
works of benevolence. All these to be mingled 
with fun and jolly good times. But so enormous 
a gain as that is beyond our feeble supposings. 
Even those who are rich enough to hire every 
stitch of their sewing done are concerned in this 
supposition, for they are obliged to consult fashion 
plates and visit openings and search out and select 
materials and choose between styles and give 
orders; and if such people would gain by this 
imagined freedom how much more would those 
who must themselves ply the needle and tread the 
treadle? Remember we are not now speaking of 


2o8 


Fashion. 


dress in itself, but of following the forever-chang- 
ing fashions. It is a sort of duty to give a reason- 
able amount of time and thought and work to the 
choosing and the making of our garments. A 
dress ought to be a thing of beauty.” 

And a joy forever,” said Miss Cindy ; “ that is, 
a reasonable forever, but now it is a joy only while 
the fashion lasts. What a provoking slavery this 
fashion slavery is, to be sure! Fools lead the way 
and the wise are obliged to follow. Sometimes the 
wise rebel at first, but Fashion isn’t a bit concerned 
at their rebellion. She knows they ’ll submit 
sooner or later. I wonder if this state of things 
will ever change.” 

“ Yes, indeed,” said Miss Hunt ; “ there are 
forces at work which must change it. At school 
our philosophy class used to recite this rule, 
or axiom: ‘Where one thing is another can- 
not be.’ According to tliis rule, why, if another 
thing pushes out one thing, one thing will dis- 
appear. And this is what is taking place now. 
Fashion worship among women is being pushed 
out by something better. Thanks to the infiuence 
of what is called the Woman’s Rights Movement, 
women are waking up and looking up and work- 
ing up. They are beginning to have higher aims 


Fashion, 


209 


than the aim of keeping in the fashion. They are 
becoming scholars, writers, preachers, lawyers, phy- 
sicians, artists. Women who are mothers are be^ 
ginning to realize what that high calling demands 
from them in the way of culture and enlighten- 
ment and preparation. Please observe, that ac- 
cording to our philosophy rule it is simply impos- 
sible that a woman who is devoting herself to any 
of these high purposes can at the same time be 
devoting herself to fashion. She will press for- 
ward to her goal, and not be turned aside by trivial 
considerations. A person bound to Washington 
does not stop at the way-stations, or take this or 
that little branch railway.” 

I think the change you speak of has more than 
begun,” said Eunice. “The advance guard have 
already made it. When. I was in the city last 
winter I saw a number of women physicians, wo- 
men students, women preachers and women artists, 
who were behind the fashion in dress, yet nobody 
laughed at them for this. It seemed to be gener- 
ally understood that they were occupied with mat- 
ters of more vital importance. Perhaps sometime 
it will be as generally understood that a woman or 
a man who dresses always in the height of fashion, 
has no liigher ambition than to do so.” 


210 


Fashion, 


“ A fish on dry ground, when it jumps, always 
jumps toward the water,” said Allen Hartman, ‘^’tis 
good deal so with folks. Each one jumps toward 
his or her own element.” 

“ But sometimes this matter of dress stands in 
their way,” said Miss Hunt, ‘‘and particularly if 
they are not strong. I know a young girl who 
began a course of study in a certain school. Her 
poverty showed itself in her dress. Not having 
strength enough to bear up under the slights which, 
to the shame of the others be it spoken, she had to 
endure on that account, she left the school.” 

“I’ll tell you what is needed,” said Mr. Johnson. 
“There needs to be a Common-sense Factory estab- 
lished. It must be large enough to turn out com- 
mon-sense enough for two kinds of people : the 
kind who cannot afford to wear expensive clothes, 
and the kind who can. When this second kind get 
their share they will know better than to judge 
people by a dress standard, and when the first kind 
get their share they will know better than to try to 
dress like the second kind, or to feel ashamed that 
they cannot.” 

“ And when everybody is supplied with this 
common-sense,” said Mary Ann, “then everybody 
will dress according to their own tastes or means 


Fashion. 


2II 


or convenience, and nobody will criticise anybody 
for doing so.” 

“This brings us down to the same old ground of 
individuality,” said Eunice, “ the same, I mean, to 
which Miss Hunt’s paper brought us, namely, that 
each person must have his or her own purposes in 
life, and not be turned aside from it by slights or 
ridicule.” 

“Speaking of ridicule,” said Miss Cindy, “I 
should like to say to those men who laugh at wo- 
men for inventing and following absurd fashions, 
ridicule is not going to stop this tiling. It must be 
undermined and crowded out by something better.” 

“One way of crowding it out,” said Eunice, 
“would be this : Let every growing-up girl, just as 
well as every growing-up boy, choose some partic- 
ular calling or pursuit — the higher the better — 
and resolve to do her best in that calling or pursuit,” 


XXV. 


WHAT SHALL WE DO WITH OUR TIME? 

Reported by a Member. 

Our fashion talk the other evening brought ns 
squarely up to the question — How much time is 
it right to bestow upon dress ? This opened the 
broader one — What shall we do with our time ? 
which soon narrowed to — What shall the mother 
do with her time ? The mothers especially con- 
sidered were those who must be occupied with 
household cares and household work. 

“Now let us not theorize,” said Miss ’Cindy, 
“let us look at this matter in a practical way. 
Suppose a woman — some Mrs. X. Y. Z. — is anx- 
ious to use her time in doing the very best things 
for her husband and children, in what ways shall 
she use it ? What are their needs ? ” 

“ Food, to begin with,” said one. 

“ Clothes,” said another. 

“ A neat and attractive home,” said another. 


212 


What Shall We do With Our Time. 213 


Then came a moment’s pause. Everybody 
seemed to be asking themselves what the husband 
and children could possibly need besides food, 
clothes, and a neat and attractive home. 

“ What else ? ” asked Miss ’Cindy. 

“ Companionship,” said Allen Hartman. Both 
husband and children need a sympathizing com- 
panion.” 

‘‘ And in case of the children,” said Mr. Johnson, 
the companion must guide and instruct, as well 
as sympathize.” 

It seems to me,” said Miss Hunt, “ that we are 
stating these needs in too general a way. Take 
the first one mentioned — food. In some houses 
food is provided which does not supply the need. 
I have sat at tables on which there was scarcely an 
article fit for food. As one thing after another 
was passed to me I was constantly reminded of the 
question little children sometimes ask each other 
when putting in their mouths some doubtful leaf, 
or flower, or ‘ gum ’ : ‘ Is this good to swaller f ’ I 
should say that the husband and children need 
not food merely, but food that is good to swal- 
ler, Here comes in a use for Mrs. X. Y. Z.’s 
time.” 

“ The second need needs some kind of specifi- 


214 What Shall We do With Oar Time, 


cations,” said Mr. Jolmson. “ There seems to mo 
to be a good deal of latitude and longitude in the 
matter of clothes.” 

“ I should say,” said Mrs. Eunice Hartman, ^Hhat 
clothing must be clean and whole and tasteful, and 
not above the means of the family.” 

That word ‘ tasteful ’ will prove a stumbling- 
block,” said Mary Ann. ‘‘ Suppose Mrs. X. Y. Z. 
thinks many flounces tasteful, or many tucks, or 
braiding, or embroidery, shall she use up time in 
such kinds of work ? You see, we come round to 
our old puzzle — How much time is it right to 
spend upon dress ? ” 

I have an idea,” said Miss Hunt, ‘‘ that our 
fourth-mentioned need — that of companionship — 
will help us to solve the puzzle. It strikes me that 
this need is going have a pretty large claim on the 
time of our Mrs. X. Y. Z. If Mr. X. Y. Z. is a man 
of ordinary intelligence, a man interested in the 
leading movements and projects and ideas and peo- 
ple of the times, then Mrs. X. Y. Z., to be his ‘sym- 
pathizing companion,’ must get a knowledge of 
these matters, which getting implies the use of 
some of her time in reading. To me such a use of 
her time seems an important one, for I have ob- 
served that nothing is so great a promoter of 


What Shall We do With Our Time? 215 


matrimoiiial happiness as this same ‘sympathizing 
companionship.’ ” 

“ And you know the children are concerned 
here,” said Allen; “as was said just now, they 
must have from their mother not only companion- 
ship but guidance and instruction.” 

“ And constant care,” said Mrs. Johnson ; “ care 
for their health, care for their minds, care for their 
characters.” 

“ Here, then, is another use for time,” said Mary 
Ann. “ Mrs. X. Y. Z. cannot be guide and in- 
structor to her children, unless she uses time in 
fitting herself for these duties. From the right 
kinds of reading she will get helpful suggestions 
and valuable knowledge ; but reading will take her 
time.” 

“And it will be time well taken,” said Miss 
Hunt; “for suppose our Mrs. X. Y. Z. knows 
enough of what we call the phenomena of nature 
to speak to her children entertainingly and instruct- 
ively of the rain, the clouds, the sunshine, winds, 
frost, snow, fog, dew, rainbows ? or enough of the 
natural history of plants to speak to her children 
entertainingly and instructively of the wonders of 
plant life and plant growth and plant uses, and the 
beauty and wonderfulness of flowers and their 


2i6 What Shall We do With Our Time? 


division into families? or enough of the natural 
history of live creatures to give her children some 
knowledge of the habits and instincts of these, 
their powers of reasoning and other so-called human 
traits, as affection, jealousy, love of praise, dread of 
blame, and their intelligence generally ? Even this 
one subject would prove almost inexhaustible, for 
there would be bird life, you know, and beast life, 
and fish life, and insect life ; think what infinite 
variety ! ” 

‘‘And think what an excellent thing for the 
children,” said Eunice, “to excite their curiosity 
in regard to such subjects as these, rather than to 
let them run loose as it were, and so almost oblige 
them to seek entertainment in the bad company 
found in the streets, or in the worse company of 
the runaways and bandits and pirates and low-toned 
women of dime novels ; or in the frivolities which 
so often engross the attention of young girls ! ” 

“And another good result of this instructive 
companionship,” said Mary Ann, “would be to 
establish a mutual bond of iuterest between mothers 
and children.” 

“ And a desirable result it is,” said Eunice ; “ I 
think mothers and children have too little in com- 


mon. 


W/iat Shall We do With Oiir Time? 217 

“ And there is biography,” continued Miss Hunt ; 
suppose our Mrs. X. Y. Z.’s knowledge of biog- 
raphy enables her to entertain her children with 
a great many incidents in the lives of a great many 
wise and good and noble and heroic and persistent 
and energetic and self-sacrificing men and women.” 
“ Another gain for the children,” said Eunice ; 
a gain for their characters. The impressions 
made upon them by this kind of entertainment 
would probably affect their whole lives for good.” 

“ And suppose,” Miss Hunt went on,. that she 
has read enough on the subject of moral training 
to realize the effects which certain forms of family 
disciphne and the general goings on in the family 
may have upon character, in some cases teaching 
deception, in others selfishness, in others injustice, 
in others hypocrisy, in others vanity, in others 
rivalry, and so on, and that the ideas thus gained 
make her exceedingly cautious in her own family 
management.” 

Very good for the children ! ” cried Miss ’Cindy. 


XXVI. 


WHAT SHALL WE DO WITH OUR TIME ? 

{Cojichided)) 

“You think, then,” said Miss Hunt, “that 
knowledge such as has been mentioned would be a 
great help to a mother? ” 

“ Help and comfort and support ! ” exclaimed 
the young married woman, with emphasis. 

“Then one of those best things (the ‘best things’ 
a mother can do for her children) we were speaking 
of is to get some or all of these kinds of knowl- 
edge?” 

“ Certainly, if she can.” 

“ And as reading and study are helps in getting 
them, reading and study must be counted in among 
our best things ? ” 

“ Yes, indeed ! ” said the young married woman. 

“So far as a knowledge of out-door objects is 
concerned,” said Mrs. Eunice Hartman, “ as trees. 


218 


What Shall We do With Our Time? 219 


plants, flowers, stones, birds, insects, and so forth, 
there are other helps. Out-door walks with her 
cliildren would help the mother both to get and 
to give this knowledge. So one of the best things 
would be for her to take them to the woods and 
fields, the sea shore, or river shore, or pond shore, 
and let them see for themselves the wonders to be 
found everywhere. Shall our Mrs. X. Y. Z. use 
some of her time in this way ? ” 

‘‘I — think so,” said the young married woman. 

“ And as for the other kinds of knowledge,” said 
Mrs. Johnson, ‘‘the kinds she will need in training 
up her children, one good way of getting these is 
for mothers to have regular talking and reading 
meetings and there tell each other what they have 
heard, or read, or found out by experience, con- 
cerning such matters. If they don’t know enough 
themselves, not even to talk, let them club together 
and buy the right sort of books and magazines and 
have them read aloud. Reading is almost sure to 
start a conversation. I have seen this plan of reg- 
ular meetings tried, and it worked well.” 

“ Some knowledge of natural history and of lit- 
erature, and, in fact, of a good many things, might 
be got by the same means,” said Eunice. 

“ Then one of the best things Mrs. X. Y. Z. can 


220 What Shall We do With Our Time? 


do for her children,” said Miss Hunt, looking at 
the young married woman, ‘‘ is to attend meetings 
of this sort.” 

‘‘Yes, to be sure it is!” she answered; “but, 
oh dear, dear, dear! how will she ever get time 
to read and study, to go to such meetings, and to 
read and to talk with her children and take walks 
with them ? ” 

“ Just the very question we want to hear,” said 
Miss Hunt ; “ when it is asked loudly enough and 
often enough and earnestly enough and anxiously 
enough and universally enough it will help answer 
that puzzling question — How much time shall we 
spend on dress ? ” 

“ And other questions, too,” said Eunice, “ as — 
How much time shall be spent in unnecessary sew- 
ing of any sort ; in unnecessary cooking ; in unne- 
cessary ironing? This is to be another case of 
crowding out. The more important will crowd 
out the less important. It will be a matter of 
choosing, of balancing. Our Mrs. X. Y. Z. will 
ask, ‘ Which is the best thing for my children ; that 
I prepare this mince, get up these fancy dishes, or 
save the time for books ? that I iron these sheets 
and towels and underclothes “all over just as 
smooth as glass,” or save the time for walks and 


What Shall We do With Our Time? 221 


talks with the cliildren ? that I tuck and ruffle this 
skirtj or save the time for the W Oman’s Meetings ? ’ 
Just as soon as she feels strongly — strongly, mind 
— the value of the best things she will be constantly 
saving time for them from things which are not the 
best.” 

‘‘I know a Mrs. X. Y. Z.,” said Mary Ann, “who 
not only did this kind of choosing herself but got 
her child to do it. Sometimes her little girl would 
come home from school and say, ‘ Mother, I wish 
you would put some ruffles on my dresses; the 
other little girls have ruffles.’ Mrs. X. Y. Z. would 
answer : ‘ Amy, I will spend this afternoon just as 
you say ; I will put some ruffles on your dress, or 
I will take you to Central Park — the wild part ! ’ 
this ‘ wild part ’ being Amy’s especial dehght. It 
was not always ruffles that was set off against the 
Park; it was any form of unnecessary work. And 
the Park was not the only substitute offered, 
though the substitutes were always worthy ones, 
and Amy invariably chose them. Her mother 
knew how to make them attractive. Besides inter- 
esting her in what we call natural objects, as has 
been suggested, she interested her in human objects ; 
as newsboys, beggar childrcD, the very destitute 
classes, the very ignorant classes, and explained 


222 What Shall We do With Our Time? 


their needs and made the child see that there was 
work to do in the world and long to help to do it. 
Thus, in various waj^s, things of high degree were 
brought forward and established in her mind before 
things of low degree had a chance to occupy the 
ground.” 

‘‘Your Mrs. X. Y. Z. was a wise woman,” said 
Eunice, “ but I think she might have been wise in 
another direction as well. We have had a great 
deal to say of individuality as a remedy for this 
everlasting and sheep-like following. If we want 
more of it we must begin with the children, and 
train them up to it. Your Mrs. X. Y. Z., besides 
doing what she did, besides teaching the difference 
between essentials and non-essentials, should have 
taught her little girl not to expect to have what 
other little girls have, or to always follow their 
lead.” 

“ My Mrs. X. Y. Z. being a wise woman and a 
thoughtful,” said Mary Ann, “ probably did teach 
that sensible doctrine.” 

Here one of the girls brought up one of our old 
questions. “ Speaking of essentials,” said she, 
“ don’t you reckon beauty and good taste among 
them?” 

“ O, yes ! ” said Eunice ; “ but you know these are 


What Shall We do With Our Time ? 223 


not dependent upon elaborate trimming. To my 
eye a plain white dress tied around with a sash — 
and perhaps finished off with just a bit of a ruffle, 
or other simple finishing — is prettier for a child 
than that same white dress tucked or flounced or 
braided to the waist. It is in better taste, more in 
keeping with childliness. Let us by all means have 
beauty and good taste. The elaboration, the time 
spent for not the best things is what I object to in 
di’ess and in cooking.” 

“ And in ironing ! ” cried Miss ’Cindy ; ‘‘ don’t 
leave that out.” 

“ And all that has been said of time,” remarked 
Allen Hartman, I should* think would apply 
equally well to money, and to strength.” 

‘‘Certainly,” said Mary Ann; “Mrs. X. Y. Z.’s 
time and money and strength must be used for the 
best things. And this is not a matter of woman’s 
rights, or woman’s grievances. It is a matter 
which affects the interests of the whole household, 
and therefore the whole household are bound to 
give it serious attention.” 

Just at this point there came a startling question 
from Miss ’Cindy: “What about Mr. X. Y. Z.?” 
she cried; “there is a great deal said about the re- 
sponsibilities of mothers. I should like to know if 


224 What Shall We do With Our Time ? 


fathers have no such responsibilities? Mr. X. Y. Z. 
has spare time — men generally do have ; can he not 
use some of it to do best things for his children ? 
Is it not his duty to read and talk and sometimes 
walk with them? Shall he not store his mind with 
knowledge in order to serve it out to them, and in 
order to get wisdom for their proper training? 
Shall not fathers hold counsel together in regard 
to the education and management of their children? 
Why should they stand aloof? Mr. X. Y. Z. prob- 
ably has liis evenings. He spends them, often, at 
the grocery store, if in the country ; if in the city, 
he may drop in at some place of entertainment, or 
at his Club. And by the way, men’s clubs are not, 
as a general thing, established for family purposes, 
or in family interests. Why should he not stay at 
home and gather his children about him and in- 
struct and entertain them in the ways we have 
been speaking of? There are the same reasons 
why the father should do this as why the mother 
should do it. She has been with the children more 
or less through the day — usually more ; cared for 
their numerous needs, answered their questions, 
settled their disputes, listened to their complaints, 
withstood — or given way to — their teasings, borne 
with their racket, soothed their sorrows, wiped 


IV/ial Shall We do With Our Time? 225 


away their tears. Her basket is filled with their 
mending or making, which, tired as she is, must be 
carried on tlu^ough the evening. He is tired, too, 
it may be ; but his work is done. He has seen 
little of his children during the day; now is the 
time for him to make their acquaintance. Now is 
the time for him to read with them some entertain- 
ing and instructive book ; to set them thinking ; to 
set them talking ; to show them how much there is 
for them to learn and to do in the world. Or he 
may share their amusements, join in their games. 
If it is well for the mother and children to be 
united by common interests, how much better that 
the father should join the union.” 

Better in every way,” said Eunice ; “ better for 
the mothers, for the fathers, and for the children.” 

‘‘ Boys and girls brought up in a union of this 
kind,” said Allen, ‘‘would be more likely than 
others to answer our Time question *in a satisfac- 
tory way. They would be more likely to perceive 
what are the best things, and to choose them.” 

“ And it seems to me,” said Miss Hunt, “ that 
there is scarcely a question to be asked and an- 
swered, whether by mothers, fathers, or by young 
people just starting in life, than — What are the 
best tilings to do with our time ? ” 


XXVII. 


THE EOOT OF THE IVIATTER. 

“We have had a great deal of talk, and good 
talk, about woman’s slavery to work,” said Mrs. 
Eunice Hartman, “ but it strikes me that we have 
not yet gone deep enough. Simplifying the work, 
reducing it, bringing the whole forces of the family 
to bear upon it, and various other suggestions, 
though all excellent as palliatives, do not reach the 
cause of the evil. There is an important first step 
to be taken, a grand foundation sermon to be 
preached and practised. The step is to place 
woman on a level with man. The text for the 
sermon is equality — equality, I mean, of man and 
woman.” 

“ Such equality is out of the question,” said Mr. 
Johnson, “ men and women are different ; are born 
difierent. There’s the matter of strength, to begin 
with ; men are stronger than women.” 

“Yes,” said Eunice, “but we find an equality 


226 


The Root of the Matter. 


227 


among men which is not affected by differences in 
strength. Take occupation, for instance. As a 
rule, every man is put in some way of earning his 
own living. Suppose that in a family are two chil- 
dren, a son and a daughter, the former with a 
delicate constitution and ordinary powers of intel- 
lect, the latter robust, vigorous, and in mental 
powers above the average. The feeble son chooses 
an occupation suited to liis capacities, and is fitted 
therefor. The strong daughter settles down to 
be supported. Here is an inequality, but it is not 
based upon strength.” 

“ Women ought not to complain of an inequality 
which favors their side,” said Mr. Johnson. 

‘‘ But does it favor their side ? ” asked Eunice. 
“ How many young men are there, who, when 
schooldays are over, would be content with simply 
being supported ? ” 

‘‘Not many,” said Miss ’Cindy; “a young man 
usually desires to do something himself, to be in- 
dependent. Besides, he knows that a continuance 
of the support is uncertain. When the head of 
the family dies his wealth must often be divided 
among several, or it may at any time take to itself 
wings and fiy away. I think most young men 
would consider it a wrong, rather than a favor, if 


?28 


The Root of the Matter. 


they had been put in no way of earning a liveli- 
hood.” 

“ And daughters are no surer of a lasting support 
than sons,” said Eunice, even supposing that a 
wealthy father meets with no business losses, and 
that he dies leaving to each daughter an independ- 
ent fortune. How is it invested? In savings 
banks, in railway, insurance, manufactures or 
bank stock, in trust with firms, with individuals, 
in the management of agents ? By some great fire, 
or panic, or fraud, this independent fortune may 
suddenly vanish. Where then does our supported 
daughter find herself ? Is it a favor, or a wrong, 
that she is thoroughly skilled in no occupation ? ” 

“ But women usually marry, and continue to be 
supported,” said Mr. Johnson. 

“No doubt you would admit,” said Miss ’Cindy, 
“ that if we could know just which ones would not 
marry, they ought to have some preparation for 
supporting themselves ? ” 

“ Certainly ; by all means,” said Mr. Johnson, 
laughing ; “ and it would not harm any woman.” 

“Now it seems to me,” said Allen Hartman, “ that 
those who marry need such preparations all the 
more, for they are liable to be left with children to 
provide for.” 


The Root of the Matter. 


229 


“ And even if they are not thus left,” said Miss 
Hunt, a knowledge of some money-winning em- 
ployment would possibly be of use to them. A 
husband may lose his health, or be unfortunate in 
buisness, or be incompetent to support a family. 
The wife dismisses her help and spends her energies 
upon pots, pans, mops and brooms, whereas by the 
knowledge just mentioned she might employ her 
time in a more pleasing occupation, earn money 
enough to pay the ‘ help,’ and have sometliing left 
over for the family.” 

‘‘ But perhaps this occupation would take her 
from her children,” said Mrs. Jolmson ; “ don’t you 
think a mother’s first duty is to her children ? ” 
Certainly I do,” said Miss Hunt, but cases are 
possible in wliich mothers would do even better for 
their children by leaving them a certain number of 
hours a day, than by remaining constantly with 
them. Anyway, it can do no harm, as Mr. John- 
son admits, for every woman to get a thorough 
knowledge of some special trade, profession, or 
business.” 

‘Mt might sometimes prevent them from doing 
that degrading and unholy thing, marrying for a 
support,” said Eunice ; “ and it is needed for an- 
other reason. If all husbands were temperate and 


230 


The Root of the Matter. 


faithful this reason would not hold good ; but as 
all are not, it does. The wife of a drunken and 
brutal husband often feels compelled to live with 
him, from the fact that she has no way of maintain- 
ing herself and children. The same reason applies 
in cases where the husband is unfaithful. I read 
recently of a family in straightened circumstances, 
the husband pleading poverty, the wife working, 
saving, denying herself almost the comforts of life. 
She at last learned that he had been keeping up 
another establishment, where he supported a mis- 
tress. He did not deny having done this. In this 
case the wife would not have remained with the 
husband only for her incapacity to do any sort of 
tiling by which she and her children might be 
clothed and fed. Having been reared as a vine she 
could not at once become an oak.” 

I don’t think it is fair to rear women as vines,” 
said Miss ’Cindy, unless they can be insured 
something or other to cling to always and forever. 
Because, you see, when the oak, or the stake, or 
the trellis, is taken from under, down goes the 
vine.” 

Therefore,” said Eunice, let there be equality ; 
not alikeness, but equality. And as one step to- 
wards this, train up the daughters, as w^ell as the 


The Root of the Matter. 


231 


sons, to be self-supporting ; not necessarily by 
men’s employments, but by any employments 
suited to their tastes or capacities.” 

“ There is still another way in which this kind 
of inequality we have been speaking of deals un- 
fairly with the daughters,” said Allen. ‘‘ Usually, 
a young man’s chosen occupation does something 
more than support him. It is an education. It 
draws him out, stimulates him, develops him. He 
is not content with mediocrity; he wishes to do 
good work — to be first-rate of his kind. Think 
of what tliis requires in the way of general culture 
as well as special ! Even the persistent effort to 
attain such excellence enlarges and strengthens the 
faculties. Now, the daughters, in being brought 
up to no special vocation, lose these developing and 
educating influences, which I say is not a fair 
thing ! ” 

‘‘And speaking generally,” said Miss Hunt, 
“ when they do ‘ take up,’ as it is called, music, or 
drawing, or carving, or modeling, or some particular 
branch of study, it is only a taking up. Seldom 
does a young girl get a thorough and practical 
knowledge of any one of these things — a teachable 
knowledge.” 

“ But what has all tliis to do with the slavery of 


232 


The Root of the Matter, 


women to housework and sewing-work ? ” asked 
Mrs. Johnson. 

“ Let us see,” said Eunice, if a few therefores 
will not enable us to make the connection. Men 
have special occupations ; women have not. The 
time of a person engaged in a special occupation is 
very much more valuable than the time of a per- 
son engaged in no such occupation, therefore 
woman’s time has come to be considered very much 
less valuable than man’s time ; and therefore it is 
of comparatively little importance how she employs 
her time, and therefore it may be employed in un- 
necessary cooking, unnecessary sewing, and other 
unprofitable ways. Industry, for a man, means 
either doing something by which he may earn 
money, or something which may be the means of 
refinement and advancement and development to 
others, and the very doing of which is a refinement 
and advancement and development of himself. 
Industry for a woman means doing any sort of 
thing in-doors. So long as her feet or fingers are 
in motion there, no questions are asked as to the 
value of what is done. She buys, for instance, a 
piece of canvas with a flower in the middle, and 
devotes days and weeks to covering the uncovered 
threads of her canvas with worsted. Now, if she 


The Root of the Matter. 


233 


would spend that amount of time in designing 
patterns, combining and harmonizing their colors, 
thus calling into exercise faculties of a high order, 
why, then she would have been doing a kind of 
work valuable for its own sake ; there would have 
been some effort required, some reaching forward, 
something in the Excelsior line. As it is, a certain 
mechanical skill having been acquired, what comes 
after is only tame repetition. But a woman’s time 
is of no account ; and because it is of no account 
she flutes and flounces and braids the clothes of 
herself and her girls ; because it is of no account, 
she sets forth her table with endless variety and 
profusion ; because it is of no account her fam- 
ily, old as well as young, clamor for labor-compel- 
ling pastries, and ‘ don’t think cake is worth eating 
unless it is frosted,’ as a hard-cooking woman re- 
marked, speaking of her own adult household. So 
we see how it is that woman has become a slave to 
unessential sewing-work, and unessential house- 
work ; that is, we partly see. The difference in 
the valuation of man’s time and woman’s, is only 
a part of the inequality mentioned at the beginning. 
There are yet other differences which our grand 
foundation sermon will have to expound.” 

‘‘ Before we go farther,” said Mary Ann, “ I have 


234 


The Root of the Matter. 


a point or two to raise on what has already been 
said, and particularly on Mr. Johnson’s remark, 
that women after marriage ‘continue to be sup- 
ported.’” 

“ And I,” said Mrs. Johnson, “have a few words 
to offer in favor of worsted work, and other sewing- 
work.” 

“ And I,” said Miss Hunt, “ have something to 
say in regard to the difference in the money value 
of woman’s time and of man’s time.” 


XXVIII. 


FAIR PLAY. 

“As Miss Hunt, Mrs. Johnson, and my sister 
Mary Ann say they have each a word to offer,” said 
Miss ’Cindy, “ suppose they offer their words now. 
Miss Hunt being the schoolma’am, and a stranger 
in the place, shall be allowed the first chance.” 

“ My word is not a new word,” said Miss Hunt, 
“ it concerns money — the money value of woman’s 
time as compared with man’s time. You all know 
there is a difference between these two. You all 
know that for equal work equally Avell done, a man 
and a woman get different prices, and that the 
man’s is much the higher. I have in mind at this 
moment, a boy’s public school, wliich the master 
could not control. His place was taken by a 
woman, who brought order out of disorder, gov- 
erned the school, and gave satisfaction as a teacher. 
I need not add that the salary of the efficient 
woman was much less than that of the inefficient 


235 


236 


Fair Play. 


man. Here is another instance that came within 
my knowledge : A woman sent articles to an editor 
under a signature which gave no clue to her sex. 
He supposed them written by a man, and paid a 
high price — until he discovered his mistake ; then 
the price was considerably lessened.” 

It costs a man more to live than it does a 
woman. He has to pay higher board than she does,” 
remarked Mr. Chandler. 

“ It is true,” said Miss Hunt, ‘‘ that in some 
kinds of boarding-houses a woman gets her meals 
for perhaps a dollar a week less than a man ; but 
to have fair play, this reduction ought to run all 
the way through. If the rule, less pay to women, 
is a general one, then the rule, less pay from wo- 
men should be as general. They should get their 
railway and horse-car tickets for less, their news- 
papers and magazines for less, their pew-rents for 
less, their room and house-rents for less, their seats 
at concerts, lectures and theatres for less. It is a 
poor rule that won’t work both ways, therefore tliis 
rule is a poor one. For women, while not getting 
full price — that is, man’s price — for their work, 
pay full price for travelling, for entertainments, 
for religion, for reading-matter, full rent, and full 
taxes upon property.” 


Fair Play. 


^17 


When the rule is equal pay for equal work,” 
said Eunice, ‘‘what Mr. Johnson would call marry- 
ing for a support will be much less common. Wo- 
men will be more independent. At present a large 
majority of women who work for hire get compara- 
tively small pay, and therefore must live scrimp- 
ingly, pinchingly, denying themselves pleasures 
and advantages, not to say necessities. The one 
escape from such a life is by marriage. A husband 
may give them the comforts and luxuries for wliich 
they sigh, and with tliis hope in view they are 
likely to accept any man who offers. As a re- 
sult we have untrue and unhappy marriages 
with their endless train of evils — evils which 
tell strongly upon the characters of the children, 
and from which, therefore, the whole community 
must suffer.” 

“ It will be a gain to the men themselves,” said 
Allen, “when women shall be more independent 
of marriage. A gain in tliis way : Our more inde- 
pendent young woman will be likely to inquire 
more closely into the character and capacities of a 
young man before accepting him. She will make 
higher demands, and he will have to fit himself to 
meet them. So you see this equality of wages is 
going to be a good thing all round.” 


238 


Fair Play. 


‘ But if young women get too particular,” said 
Mr. Johnson, ‘‘marriages will become scarce, and 
the race will die out.” 

“ Not quite so bad as that, let us hope,” said 
Eunice ; “ I think too well of young men to sup- 
pose there are not plenty among them good enough 
for the very best of young women. And as to 
marriages becoming scarcer, that may not be wholly 
an evil. Better that they should be few and true 
than many and false. Better for the world that 
ten children should be born under right conditions 
than fifty under wrong conditions.” 

“Well,” said Mr. Johnson, “here is another 
stumbling-block. I don’t bring it forward as an ar- 
gument, exactly, but as a fact. There are already 
more than enough workers for the work, and when 
all the women come pressing into the ranks the 
state of things will be worse than ever.” 

“ Or in other words,” said Eunice, “ women must 
refrain from work because there are too many 
workers. On the same grounds we might ask a 
certain number of men to remain idle. We might 
say to them, ‘ Don’t you know there are enough 
already? What are you pressing into the ranks 
for ? ’ I don’t see how we can lay down the prin- 
ciple that the number of workers shall be made to 


Fair Play. 


239 


correspond to the amount of work. As a practical 
measure it would be hard to carry out.” 

I think,” said Allen, “ that this matter should 
be regulated not by sex, but by ability. Let the 
best workers have the woik and get the best pay. 
The community can’t afford to employ inferior 
ability when it can be served by superior ability. 
Neither can individuals afford to. You would not 
do it yourself, Mr. Johnson. If you wanted a pict- 
ure painted, or your walls newly papered, or your 
strawberries gathered, or your apples sorted, or 
plans drawn for a house, you would employ, other 
things being equal, the persons who would do your 
work best, whether men or women. Of two teach- 
ers, a man and a woman, you would choose the one 
who would do the best for your children. In case 
of sickness in your family, you would not hesitate 
to send for a woman doctor known to possess great 
skill, even if a man doctor known to possess little 
skill were obliged to lose his fee in consequence.” 

I don’t exactly see, myself,” said Mary Ann, 
“ what we shall come to with so many workers.” 

“ Nor I, exactly,” said Eunice, “■but these things 
must find their level somehow, and they will, 
though not by repressing here, and restraining 
there. Full and free acti^dty for every faculty and 


240 


Fair Play. 


for everybody’s faculties is the only fair ground. 
Let us think it over, logically, as it were, like this. 
More workers in the field will increase competition. 
Competition will insure better work. Better work 
will require more time spent upon it, and, there- 
fore, more workers. Why, this takes us round a 
circle, and leaves us wanting more workers ! ” 

Just the situation we desire,” said Miss Hunt. 
But if ever we do have a great many too many 
workers for the world’s work,” said Miss ’Cindy, 
why, then th^ world’s work can be done in fewer 
hours to the day than at present, and, glory, halle- 
lujah ! the world will have leisure ! Leisure that 
everybody is sighing and dying for ! This may 
not be logical, but it is alluring.” 

‘‘ Then there is colonization,” said Allen ; “ the 
overplus of workers can leave and go where there 
are fewer. That is logical.” 

And see if this is not logical,” said Miss Hunt ; 
“ it may be better, even for the men, that women 
have equal wages Avith them, for then employers 
will not employ women in order to save money. 
They Avill employ the best workers of both sexes. 
This will be bad for inferior workers among wo- 
men, but we can’t help that. Fair play is fair.” 
The upshot would be,” said Miss ’Cindj^, 


Fair Play, 


241 


‘‘ more competition, more trying to do good work, 
and a struggle for perfection. The very best work- 
ers would go to the top, and you know Daniel 
Webster said, ‘ There is always room at the top." 
And if it should ever come about that there is no 
room anywhere but at the top, why, glory, halle- 
lujah ! again ; everything will be done well ! ” 

It seems to me,” said Miss Hunt, ‘‘ that in this 
matter, as in so many others, we shall have to come 
down to our old ground of individuality. Let 
every individual do what is best suited to life or ^ 
her capacities, providing, of course, that circum- 
stances make tliis a duty. If a woman inclines 
strongly to the medical profession, has a real genius 
for it, and the necessary fortitude and persistency 
and tenderness, and sense, and insight, and is in 
every way strong, let her be a physician. The 
sick need her. But if she thinks of becoming 
a physician merely because she has a right to be 
one, or merely to earn money, then let her forbear 
(the same of men). So of public speaking. If a 
woman is all alive with a noble purpose, if her 
mind is brimful of ideas — important ones ; if she 
is keen to discern a truth, and eloquent to ex- 
pound it, then let her speak out. * The public need 
her. ‘ Quench not the spirit.’ But if she cannot 


242 


Fair Play. 


speak to edification, and her only aim is notoriety, 
then let her forbear (the same of men).” 

In regard to women speaking in public,” said 
Allen, I never could quite understand the out- 
cry that has been made against this. If the same 
outcry were made against her singing in public, 
or acting or reciting in public, then I might under- 
stand it. But if one woman may stand up in 
church and sing, or before a crowd and declaim, or 
recite, why may not another woman stand up and 
speak — always supposing she has something im- 
portant to say and knows how to say it ? Why is 
it any worse to say a thing than to sing it, and 
why is it any worse for her to speak her own 
thoughts than other people’s ? ” 

I used to think,” said Miss ’Cindy, that wo- 
men who spoke in public would be made coarse 
and brazen and unwomanly by doing so. I have 
learned better. I have been in their homes, and 
have seen that they are gentle and tender and 
womanly. But we are wandering from our sub- 
ject. Mrs. Johnson, shall we have your word 
now ? I think it was a word for sewing-work.” 


XXIX. 


SEWING-WOEK AND OTHEE WOEK. 

“Foe my part,” said Mrs. Chandler, “I don’t 
like to hear sewing-work and housework cried 
down. By and by women will be educated into 
thinking themselves too good for anything but 
just books and genteel doings.” 

“ If they are well educated,” said Miss Hunt, 
“ that is, truly educated, heart and soul, they will 
know too much to think themselves above any kind 
of honest labor. This is a matter which depends 
upon circumstances. Circumstances must and will 
alter cases, and you can’t hinder them. A woman 
may be wisely and nobly employed in doing house- 
work; for housework means work by which the 
needs of the family are supplied and the home 
made attractive. But under some circumstances 
it would be equally wise and noble for the wife 
and daughters to keep a hired girl while they them- 
selves pursue some employment wliich brings in 


243 


244 


Sewing- Woi^k and Other Work, 


money and is at the same ^time more agreeable 
and elevating than housework. The point first 
to be settled is, Can help be afforded? This 
depends upon the income of the parties and the 
uses made of it. If it is barely enough for the 
absolutely necessary expenses, the path of duty for 
the woman is plain, and leads straight forward to 
and through the housework; but if the income 
be sufficient to afford luxuries — in other words, 
goodies — for the table, and tobacco and cigars for 
the husband, then this path of duty is not so plain : 
it is obscured by the question. Would not the 
money spent for these be better spent in relieving 
the wife of at least the heaviest parts of in-doors 
work ? ” 

‘‘Speaking in a general way,” said Mr. Johnson, 
“I think that this matter of saving women from 
housework depends a little upon what the saved 
women do with the time thus gained. They may 
employ it profitably for all concerned, or they 
may employ it in lounging about and reading silly 
novels, or in nonsensical needlework, or in gadding 
here and there, talking gossip. We hear now and 
then of a case in which a hard-working man has to 
support a lazy and extravagant wife.” 

“ It is impossible,” said Eunice, “ to make any 


Sewing- Work and Other Work. 245 

one statement wliicli will cover the whole ground ; 
still, I think we may lay down this general prin- 
ciple, that it is never the duty of a woman to go 
beyond her strength in doing unnecessary work, 
whether sewing, or housework. By the way, Mrs. 
Johnson had a word to say for sewing-work.” 

“My word is,” said Mrs. Johnson, “that sewing- 
work must be. Families must have clothes, and in 
a very great many families the clothes must be 
home-made.” 

“The use of machinery is going to affect this 
matter,” said Miss ’Cindy ; “ a moneyed man builds 
a big building, fills it with steam-running sewing- 
macliines, hires girls to tend them, and turns off 
suits, cloaks, wrappers and underclothing, which 
you can buy for less than the materials would cost 
you. Think how it is with boys’ and men’s cloth- 
ing. Twenty years ago, if your husband wanted 
a coat made, the tailoress with shears, thimble, 
wax, and goose, enthroned herself at your most de- 
sirable wmdow and held the tln?one for four days. 
She had to be engaged long beforehand, and fed 
and tended during her stay. In a family where 
men-folks abounded, her half-yearly visitations 
were appalling to contemplate. Nowadays men- 
folks get their clothes ready-made, and at less cost. 


246 Sewing- Work and Other Work, 

When women know enough to dress as healthfully 
as men do their clothing will not fit so snug and 
tight as it does now, and then it will be a much 
easier matter to buy it ready-made. Industry is a 
virtue, but there seems no particular merit in spend- 
ing whole days in sewing when notliing is gained 
by it.” 

“I don’t know that there is,” said Mrs. Johnson; 

I only wanted to speak against the idea that head 
work is all in all and hand work contemptible. I 
read in a paper the other day a sentence which 
seemed so true that I learned it by heart. It was 
taken from a sermon : 

“ ‘ The woman who sits sewing all day long may have served 
God as well with her needle and ennobled her character as 
much as though she had been doing some great work.’ ” 

‘‘That is a true saying,” said Miss ’Cindy, “but I 
think there should be a strong accent on the — let 
me see, one, two, three, four, five, six — on the 
ninth word, may. The woman may have ; whether 
she has or not depends upon her motives. If she 
was doing needful sewing which circumstances 
made it necessary for her to do herself, or if she 
was working for her own support, or the support 
of those dependent on her, or if she was helping 


Sewing- Work and Other Work. 


247 


her brother through college, or if she was sewing 
as an act of friendslhp, or charity, then it would be 
all well enough that she should sit ‘ sewing all day 
long.’ ” 

‘‘ Or if she were making anything really beauti- 
ful,” said Mary Ann. ‘‘ I don’t refer now to ‘ fill- 
ing in ’ dogs’ heads and other such on canvas, but 
embroidering some beautiful pattern on some beau- 
tiful material with beautiful colors. Beauty is one 
kind of necessity, you know.” 

‘‘ Y-e-s,” said Eunice, hesitatingly, but I have 
some doubts on this point. Not on the point of 
beauty : we must have that ; I mean the point of 
time. I don’t feel quite sure that the best possible 
way of using our time — that is, of very much 
time — is to use it in covering with stitches patterns 
designed by other people. The art once acquired, 
what comes after is mechanical. There is no far- 
ther education to be got from it, no development, 
no progress.” 

“ Still, we don’t want to develop and progress 
and be educated every moment of our lives,” said 
Miss ’Cindy. 

‘‘ True enough,” said Miss Hunt ; “ and I hereby 
testify that when the brain is tired with reading or 
study, sewing-work of almost any kind is a pleasant 


248 


Sewing- Work and Other Work. 


relief, and some kinds of embroidery are a delight, 
especially the nice kinds done in colors.” 

“We will keep our embroidery for such times,” 
said Mary Ann, “ and for times when we should 
not be doing anything else : odd minutes, you 
know, and when there is reading aloud or conversa- 
tion going on ; but we won’t make it one of the 
chief aims of life.” # 

“ Except towards Christmas,” said Miss ’Cindy. 

“I think that Mrs. Johnson’s sentence should be 
well considered before we make it a rule of action,” 
said Eunice ; “ at any rate the emphasis on that 
ninth word may should be very strong indeed. Sup- 
pose a woman ‘ sits sewing all day long ’ in order 
to make a grand appearance, or to keep up with 
the newest fashions, or to wear a finer dress than 
her neighbor’s. Here we should have for motives 
pride, vanity, conformity and a spirit of rivalry; 
or if the work is for her children, the same motives 
would be instilled into them. I think that by 
such ‘sewing all day long’ she would neither 
serve God nor ennoble her character. Also, a 
woman might choose to ‘ sit sewing all day long ’ 
doing unnecessary sewing, when she was very 
much lacking in mental culture, or when her chil- 
dren needed her in various ways, or when some 


Seiving- Work and Other Work. 


249 


sick or sorrowful person would be the better for 
her presence. In neither of these cases would she 
be ‘ serving God and ennobling her character.’ ” 
Speaking of sewing-work,” said Miss Hunt, 
Avhat do you tliink of a handkerchief which took 
two years in the making ; a handkerchief twenty 
inches square, embroidered with hair and silk in 
stitches so fine that unless seen through a powerful 
magnifying-glass the design seemed to be done in 
India ink ? There were trees and flowers, and a 
swing and a child, and an angel and an inscrip- 
tion. The margin for the depth of two and a haK 
inches was done in lace work made by threads of 
the cloth pulled out and twisted together, requir- 
ing, the account said, ‘ great skill and patience.’ 
Think of what two years’ skill and patience might 
have done in other directions ; that is, better di- 
rections ! ” 

‘‘ The handkercliief couldn’t be used for a hand- 
kerchief,” said Miss ’Cindy ; ‘‘ framed and hung up 
for a picture it would be out of place ; laid away in 
a drawer nobody would see it. Dear me ! in these 
times when there is so much to learn, and so much 
live work to be done, how can anybody, from 
choice, spend two years on a pocket handkerchief ! ” 

‘‘ There’s a good deal of meaning to those two 


250 


Sewing- Work and Other Work. 


words you threw in at the middle — ‘ from choice,’ ” 
said Eunice ; life has been given various names, 
as dream, bubble, span, vain show. I think life is 
a choosing, a balancing. There are so many kinds 
of duties, so many aims worth keeping in view, 
that we are compelled to be constantly choosing 
between them, weighing the advantages of this, 
that or the other ; and as people are not made 
alike nor situated alike, why, each must choose 
and weigh for himself, or herself.” 

“ Individuality again,” said Mary Ann, in paren- 
thesis. 

“ Sometimes the choice is between lazy depend- 
ence and industrious independence,” said Allen, 
‘‘and sometimes the former is preferred.” 

“ Yes, and especially among women,” said Miss 
’Cindy ; “ but the time is coming when young 
women, the same as young men, shall be trained to 
self-support, and shall think it an honor rather than 
a disgrace. Then you will see labor looking up, as 
it were. The stigma will drop off of it: off hand 
labor as well as off other kinds. When that time 
comes the prevailing sentiment will be : Any hon- 
est work is more honorable than dependence ; em- 
phasis on the first word, anyT 


XXX. 


WHO SHALL DECn)E? 

Upon liearing it remarked that there are other 
than the natural inequalities between men and 
women, Mr. Johnson said he would like to hear 
them mentioned. 

‘‘Yes, ladies,” said Allen, laugliing, “now is 
your opportunity. Just state your case, and we 
men will listen patiently and decide justly.” 

“Your very proposition suggests one of the 
inequalities,” said Miss Hunt. “ To say we will 
decide is as much as to say we have the right to de- 
cide. Equals do not decide for equals ; yet many 
questions affecting woman’s interests are decided 
by this same we — that is to say, by men.” 

“ That’s what’s the matter with the whole mat- 
ter,” said Miss ’Cindy. “ There’s too much we for 
the you.” 

“ Let us suppose a case,” said Miss Hunt. “ Sup- 
pose two persons, James and John, are travelhng 


251 


252 


W/io Shall Decide? 


together. Says James to John, as they pursue 
their journey : ^ Xfiat is not the path for you to 
take. That stream is too deep for you to ford. 
Those plums will make you sick. It will be best 
for you not to step over this fence. It is wrong 
for you to cross that meadow. You cannot climb 
that hill. I advise you not to enter that building. 
You will be afraid of the dog; besides, it contains 
nothing which you need.’ 

Now, the very fact that James assumes such 
directorship implies that James thinks himself a 
better judge than John of John’s duties and ca- 
pacities and needs. 

Should James not only advise and direct, but 
urge his own preferences, and say : ‘ I prefer that 
you conduct in such and such a manner. I like to / 
see you in this place, and I don’t like to see you 
in that place. You will please me better by doing 
thus than by doing so.’ This would imply that 
James’s wishes and preferences were to be con- 
sulted, rather than John’s. If James should go a 
step further, and use authority, declaring to John, 

‘ You shall not take that path; you shall not ford 
that stream ; you shall not eat those plums,’ and 
so forth, this would imply on James’s part a right 
of control over John. 


IV/io Shall Decide? 


253 


‘‘ James in this parable represents the aforesaid 
‘we,’ which is to say man; and John represents 
the aforesaid ‘ you,’ which is to say woman. Says 
man to woman : ‘ I advise you not to attempt such 
and such studies. Your brain is unequal to this 
or that effort ; besides, the knowledge gained would 
do you no good. It is unwomanly and improper 
for you to speak in public, and to speak from a 
pulpit to a congregation on Sunday is wrong. 
Neither is it well for you to enter upon the study 
of medicine. There are terrible difficulties in the 
way here. It is much more fitting that we should 
be the physicians ; not only among our own se:j, 
but among yours. It is not necessary that you 
should have any voice in certain matters of com- 
mon interest to us both — as, for instance, the 
management of the schools your children attend, 
choice of teachers and committees, course of studies, 
condition of school-buildings ; or in the appropria- 
tion of the taxes you pay on your property ; or in 
making the laws by winch you are governed. We 
can manage all these things for you. Should you 
take interest in such matters, you would lose your 
womanly natures. You would cease to care for 
your children.’ 

“Now, the very fact that man assumes such 


254 


Who Shall Decide? 


directorship implies that man is a better judge 
than woman of woman’s needs and duties and 
capacities ; a better judge than woman of what 
is womanly. 

“In the parable James does more than merely 
to advise and direct ; he makes known his pleas- 
ure. So does the ‘ we ’ in the reality. Man says : 
‘We don’t want you thus; but so. We don’t 
want to see you on the platform, or in the pulpit, 
or at the ballot-box, or prescribing for the sick. 
We don’t want learned women. We want sweet, 
yielding, clinging, depending women ; women with 
no strong points of character to protrude and irri- 
tate us. These are the kind to make us happy.’ 
All this implies that, in the ordering of woman’s 
life, man’s pleasure and preferences are to be con- 
sulted, rather than her own. 

“In the parable James goes a step further, and 
uses authority. So does the ‘ we ’ in the reality. 
Man says to woman : ‘You shall not do thus ; but 
so. You shall not enter that college ; you shall 
not become members of that medical institution ; 
you shall not speak in that pulpit or at that con- 
vention ; you shall not have a voice in making the 
laws which govern you, or in the appropriation of 
your tax-money, or in choosing your pastor, or in 


W/io Shall Decide f 


2SS 


the management of the schools yonr childi’en at- 
tend, or in any matters of common or public in- 
terest.’ This exercise of authority implies on 
man’s part a right of control over woman.” 

“But almost all the women would agree with 
the men,” said Mrs. Johnson. “ They don’t want 
to do these forbidden things ; they don’t think \t 
proper or right to do them. They don’t want the 
bother of laws, and of school-matters, and of know- 
ing how their tax-money is spent. They like to be 
looked out for and taken care of, and they feel 
willing to trust men to manage all such matters 
for them.” 

“ That is not the point in question,” said Miss 
Hunt. “ Our point is inequality. This point has 
been doubted. But if one person assumes the di- 
rectorship of another person, there certainly is in- 
equality implied between the two and a superiority 
on the part of the director.” 

“ Now I will speak a parable,” said Miss ’Cindy, 
“ Mrs. Johnson, suppose you should put on your 
things and walk out of your front door, and that 
Mrs. Chandler should meet you and say : ‘ Mrs. 
Johnson, this is the road you ought to take. It 
leads to Hepton Corners. That road leads to Over- 
ton. You are not fit to go to Overton. You don’t 


2s6 


Who Shall Decide? 


feel strong enough, your shoes pinch your feet, 
and you can’t see very well with one of your eyes, 
and you have a buzzing sound in your ears, and 
your shawl ought to have more blue in it. The 
things you will get at Overton are not good for 
you. The things you will get at Hepton Corners 
are good for you. It is improper and wrong for 
you to go to Overton ; your duty calls you to 
Hepton Corners. Furthermore, I don’t like to 
think of you at Overton. I like to think of you 
at Hepton Corners. You will not make me nearly 
as happy by going to Overton as you will by going 
to Hepton Corners. Furthermore, again, you shall 
do as I say. You shall not go to Overton.’ 

‘‘Your natural reply would be : ‘Mrs. Chandler, 
I must judge for myself what is right and proper 
and where my duty leads me. Certainly I know 
better than you what my strength will allow, and 
whether or not my shoes pinch my feet, or I can 
see with both eyes, or have a buzzing sound in my 
ears. I don’t quite see why your taste should de- 
cide the color of my shawl, or why your prefer- 
ences should regulate my movements ; and as for 
detaining me by force, the idea is absurd. In fact, 
your whole talk to me is absurd.’ 

“ You see here that the question what was your 


IV/io Shall Decide f 


257 


duty, or what were your wishes, has nothing to do 
with the point under consideration. It might not 
have been your duty to go to Overton ; you might 
have had no desire to go there. The point is that 
Mrs. Chandler should assume to know your duty, 
and needs, and capabilities better than you know 
them yourself; should expect you to yield your 
preferences to hers, and even to submit to her 
authority. You two being on an equality, her as- 
sumptions and expectations would appear to you 
absurd. If we suppose you to be very much 
underwitted and destitute of moral perception, 
and Mrs. Chandler to be very much overwitted 
and unerring in moral perception, the absurdity 
vanishes.” 

“ Just so in our case,” said Miss Hunt. “ Sup- 
posing woman to be equal with man — equal, that 
is, in judgment, in intelligence, in moral percep- 
tion ; it is absurd for him to expect that her course 
should be shaped by his opinions, his preferences, 
or his authority, any more than that his course 
should be shaped by her opinions, preferences and 
authority. If we suppose woman to be very much 
underwitted and destitute of moral perception, and 
man to be very much overwitted and unerring in 
moral perception, the absurdity vanishes. But are 


258 


Who Shall Decide ? 


we ready to admit that such is the case ? Are you 
willing to, yourself, Mrs. Johnson ? ” 

course, I am not!” said Mrs. Johnson. 

“ Are you willing to admit that women, as a 
class, are naturally inferior to men, as a class, in 
intelligence, judgment, common sense, and moral 
sense ?” 

“No, I am not.” 

“ Is it not likely that a woman should know, at 
least, as well as a man what is right, what is proper, 
what is womanly, what she needs, and what she 
can probably accomplish ? ” 

“I suppose so.” 

“ Then why should she be under his direction in 
these matters ? Remember, again, that the ques- 
tion (Is it right for women to do all these forbid- 
den things, as you call them ?) is not our question. 
I, you, all of us women may shiink from doing 
them, may detest it, scorn it. But our one sole, 
single point is that man, not being woman’s supe- 
rior in judgment, intelligence, and moral sense, de- 
cides what is right and proper for her to do, ex- 
pects her to be guided by his preferences, and 
compels her to submit to his decisions. 

“ The true way is for man and woman to stand 
equals, on the common ground of humanity — 


W/io Shall Decide? 


259 


equally free to decide and to act ; equally free to 
develop his or her own faculties ; equally free from 
arbitrary restrictions. 

“ And by the way this simple point that the 
moral right of individual expression is common to 
all settles the question of woman suffrage. The 
real question is not Shall women vote, but Who 
is to decide whether she shall or not ? At pres- 
ent man has the legal right of decision, but tliis 
legal right is based on a moral wrong.” 


XXXL 


lucikda’s letter. 

“We admit,” said Mr. Chandler, “ that man does, 
in many cases, decide what is and what is not 
woman’s duty, and does oblige her to submit to his 
decisions ; but is there not a propriety in his doing 
so ? Is this not authorized by several texts of 
Scripture?” 

“Yes, it is,” said Miss Hunt, the school-teacher; 
“ and one reason why I wish to hear the whole mat- 
ter discussed is that my attention has just been 
called to these texts by a letter from a pupil friend 
of mine, lately married to a young city book-keeper. 
I began school-teaching in an out-of-the-way village 
in New Hampshire, and among the scholars attend- 
ing was one of twelve or thirteen, named Lucinda; 
a heavy, thick-set girl, somewhat clumsy in her 
motions, and often abrupt in speech. Her face was 
round and rosy, and it had honesty written all over 
it. I was drawn to her at first by this truthful- 
260 


Litcindd s Letter. 


261 

ness of countenance; and still more afterward by 
her truthfulness of character and her affectionate 
disposition. I never knew a person so utterly con- 
scientious. In bringing in her school-reports, she 
exacted from herself the strictest integrity, and by 
no means allowed herself the benefit of a doubt. 
One afternoon, as Avas often the case — for Lucinda, 
with all her earnest endeavors, could not become a 
scholar — she missed many times in her geography, 
and I left her to study after school, telling her that 
when she had tried as hard as she possibly could 
she might go, even if the lesson Avere not perfectly 
learned. J ust before dark, finding the key had not 
been brought, I went over to the schoolhouse, 
stepped softly to the door, and looked in. There 
sat Lucinda, her head bent down to the book, one 
hand covering the ansAvers, ‘ Aveaving ’ backAvard 
and forAvard in her seat, as if to make her body 
help her mind to do its Avork. 

‘‘‘O Miss Hunt! ’ she said in a pitiful tone, as 
I entered. ‘ I tried hard ; but I don’t believe I 
tried as hard as I could. Fori Avatched the flies 
some when I thought I Avas studying ; and when I 
Avas telling the square miles, I kept thinking about 
Ma’s getting supper and the baby trying to turn 
over flapjacks AAuth a clothes-pin, as he did one 


262 


Lticindd s Letter. 


time, and — ’ Here she burst into a giggle, which 
soon turned into a cry. And I kissed her, and 
stroked her hair, and sent her home.” 

This is her letter : 

‘‘My dear Teacher: 

“ I want to ask you about something that I can’t 
make up my mind which is the right side of it and 
which is the wrong. I think it is wicked to go out 
walking in the woods and fields Sunday afternoons. 
I was brought up so. But Augustus, he doesn’t 
think it is wicked. And he says he is shut up so 
much that he needs to go, and that he can keep the 
day among God’s works better than among man’s 
works ; and he wants me to go with him. Now, 
he couldn’t take so much comfort going alone, and, 
if anybody goes with him, I’d rather go with him 
myself than anybody else should go. But then I 
do not think it is right to go. I wasn’t brought 
up that way. Last Sunday Augustus asked me if 
I did not think it was right to follow what the 
Bible laid down. And I said : ‘ Why, yes, indeed ; 
for the Bible was given us for a guide.’ ‘Well,’ 
says he, ‘ the Bible says that wives must do as their 
husbands want them to ; and I want you to go, and 
so it is right for you to go.’ 


Lucinda s Letter, 


263 


“ Then he got his father’s Scott’s Bible, because 
that has a great many notes of explanation in it ; 
and read to me first from I Peter, ‘Wives, be in 
subjection to your husbands ’ ; then from Ephe- 
sians, ‘ Let wives be subject to their husbands in 
everything ’ ; then from Timothy, ‘ Let the women 
hear in silence, with all subjection ’ ; then from 
Corinthians, ‘ The head of every man is Christ, and 
the head of the woman is the man.’ ‘Now these 
sajdngs are easy to understand,’ said Augustus, 
‘and are said over and over so many times they 
must mean what they say ; and, don’t you see, the 
responsibility is taken off your shoulders ? ’ 

“ I did not know just what to say to him, because 
there it was in plain Bible words, ‘ Submit in ever}^- 
thing, as unto the Lord ’ ; but I said it did not 
seem reasonable. He said that reason was one 
thing and revelation was another, and that we 
must not oppose reason to revelation. ‘ Mr. Scott 
was a pious man and a learned man,’ said he, ‘ and 
it looks likely that he had as much reason as most 
folks ; and he says, in a note here, ‘ Man is the im- 
mediate Head or Ruler of every woman, to whose 
authority God . . . subjected her’; and he 

says, ‘ In general, it is beneficial to women to be 
subject to their husbands.’ And do you mean to 


264 


Lucinda s Letter. 


set yourself above Mr. Scott, and above Paul?’ 
Augustus asked. 

“I told him I would think the matter over in my 
mind. And it happened that our minister called 
to see me that week, and, after he had talked some, 
I asked him if we must take the Bible commands 
to mean, word for word, just what they said. And 
he said : ‘ Certainly.’ And then I told him what 
Augustus wanted me to do, and that I thought it 
would be wicked to do that way Sundays. And 
he said, right off : ‘ My dear, we have to use reason 
in regard to these matters, and — ’ I’m afraid I 
wasn’t very polite; for I spoke right out before 
he’d done, and said I : ‘ Can we ? I didn’t know 
we could. Can all of us ? Can women ? ’ ^ Cer- 

tainly,’ said he again. ‘ And when you interrupted 
me I was about to say that, whenever a husband’s 
wishes conflict with the voice of conscience, the 
voice of conscience must be obeyed.’ ‘ The voice 
of a woman’s conscience ?’ said I. ‘ Certainly,’ said 
he. ‘Woman is an accountable being.’ ‘Then 
Avhat Paul meant was,’ said I: ‘Wives, be subject 
unto your husbands when you think it is right to 
be.’ ‘ Certainly,’ said he. ‘ Conscience is su- 
preme.’ 

“But when I told Augustus this, he said he 


LiLcindd s Letter. 


265 


didn’t see what right any human man had to add 
what Paul did not say. Said he : ‘ Paul took pains 
to say these things at a great many different times 
(so there was chance enough) ; but he never at any 
of the times brought it in that woman must follow 
her conscience, or her reason either. If the mini«- 
ter thinks women ought to follow their reasons and 
their consciences, why didn’t he let that Mrs. 
Orton, who is getting up a revival, preach in the 
meeting-house, when she said she felt it to be her 
duty to and that her soul burned within her to pro- 
claim glad tidings ? But he said no ! ’ 

‘‘ I couldn’t say tliis was not so ; and the next 
time the minister called, after we had tallied some 
about the revival and about Mrs. Orton, I said that 
some of us wanted her to preach in the meeting- 
house. ‘Yes,’ said he, ‘but I felt it my duty to 
withhold my consent. The Bible is very clear on 
tills point. Paul says : ‘ Let your women keep si- 
lence in the church.’ I said: ‘You said, the 
other day, that all of us — women and all — 
must follow our reasons and our consciences. 
Augustus says he doesn’t understand, and I don’t 
either, why they must do so at some times and not 
do so at other times.’ He said : ‘ My dear, some 
parts of the Bible are hard to reconcile. We see 


266 


Lucinda s Letter, 


now as in a glass darkly. We must walk by faith, 
and not by sight. Those who know best about 
these matters think it is not right for a woman to 
preach in a church ; and you must have faith in 
their judgment.’ So I told Augustus that the min- 
ister said that we must settle our duty for our- 
selves sometimes, and sometimes not. Augustus 
says this seems unlikely; and I think myself 
that it does seems unlikely. 

‘‘Ruthy Taylor — she’s one of the young con- 
verts — she wants to follow the Bible very strictly, 
and she asked me if I thought she ought to wear 
her gold chain and locket her uncle gave her ; for 
she said that Paul forbids women to wear such 
things, and she wished she knew what to do about 
it. She said that Paul said that, if a woman 
wanted to know anything, let her ask her husband 
at home ; but she hadn’t any husband to ask about 
the chain and locket. We looked to see if Mr. 
Scott said anything about this, and found that he 
said that the command to ask husbands might take 
in unmarried women ; for, as he said in one of liis 
notes, they would have some man in the family of 
whom they might inquire. Ruthy is very much 
puzzled to know what is right to do. She wants 
to do exactly as the Bible says, and it says we 


Lttcinda s Letter, 


267 


must inquire of the men when we don’t know. 
Now, Ruthy’s brother is a man ; but all he thinks 
of is going a-gunning, and hardly ever looks into 
any book, let alone the Bible, and Ruthy says she 
knows he wouldn’t know anything about wearing 
pearls and costly array. Mr. Scott said in a note 
that the rule against doing so might admit of 
occasional exceptions ; but Augustus says he thinks 
this is leaving a very wide door open, for a great 
many women will think they are occasional excep- 
tions and will walk right through. I told Ruthy 
that the minister said we must all use our reasons 
and consciences, even women ; but Augustus wants 
to know, and Ruthy wants to, too, if Paul meant 
that women should do so sometimes, why didn’t he 
say at wliich times? He says that in the com- 
mands there isn’t even one small crack open for a 
woman’s reason and conscience ; that her subjec- 
tion must be ‘ in everything ’ ! 

‘‘ I wish you would Avrite me a letter, and tell 
me what you think about these texts, and especially 
about the one which forbids women to speak in 
churches, and why this should be followed always 
and those others not always.” 


XXXIL 


MISS hunt’s letter to LUCINDA. 

My dear Lucinda: 

You ask what I think about the texts of Scriptr 
ure which would place women under subjection to 
men, and especially about that one which forbids 
women to speak in churches.” 

In such matters we naturally look for guidance 
to our religious teachers and members of religious 
bodies. There is something curious in the way 
these seem to regard the particular text you speak 
of. The same Paul who forbids women to speak 
in the church said : I suffer not a woman to 
teach.” Yet religious people employ womeil teach- 
ers. The text may be said to mean that women 
must not teach adults, especially adult men. But, 
even thus explained, it is set aside by prominent re- 
ligious leaders, who, in conducting evening schools 
for adults of both sexes, include women among the 
teachers. They would smile at the idea of taking 


268 


Miss Hunt' s Letter to Lticinda. 269 


the text literally. Your own minister, if wishing 
information on some point in astronomy, would 
think it right to ask it of Maria Mitchell. He 
would not ask it of you ; and, if his question re- 
lated to zoology, he would not probably put it to 
Maria Mitchell. The accepted meaning of this 
text seems to be, then, that woman must not teach 
unless she is better informed than those to be 
taught. 

We find other texts of Scripture which are not 
taken literally by religious leaders. Paul said, 
Owe no man anything.” Not many, even of the 
stricter sort, obey this to the letter and invariably 
pay at the time of buying. 

Then there are the texts : “ The powers that be 
are ordained of God. Whoever resisteth the pow- 
ers shall receive unto themselves damnation.” 
This is plain language ; yet those who insist most 
earnestly on a literal interpretation of Scripture 
would not think it right to sin in obedience to the 
powers that be. The accepted meaning of this text 
is : Obey the powers that be when their commands 
do not conflict with the voice of conscience. 

Sell all that ye have and give alms ” is a plain 
command. For everybody to follow it is impossi- 
ble, since, if property is sold, somebody must buy ; 


270 


Miss Hunt's Letter to Lucinda. 


and for any head of a family to ‘‘sell all” for 
the purpose mentioned would be unjust to that 
family. 

“ Give to every one that asketh ” is another plain 
command; but we all know that indiscriminate 
charity injures many who receive it. I suppose a 
millionaire could hardly do a worse thing for a 
place than to proclaim there “ I will give to every 
man that asketh ” ; thus taking away that necessity 
of exertion which is what develops the powers of 
a man and, in fact, makes a man of him. The 
conductors of charitable organizations — most of 
whom are religious people — beseech us not to 
“give to every man that asketh.” They tell us 
that many of these askers are lazy, unthrifty, im- 
provident, determined to live in idle dependence. 
They say that, so long as people do “ give to every 
man that asketh,” so long will pauperism increase 
and laziness find support. The best and wisest in 
the land practice this text as if it were written : 
“ Do not give to every man that asketh.” 

“ Of him that taketh away thy goods ask them 
not again.” But religious people do not hesitate 
to insist upon the restoration of goods of which 
they have been unjustly deprived. Their usual in- 
terpretation of the text seems to be : “ If any man 


Miss Httnfs Letter to Lucmda, 


271 


taketh. away thy goods, compel him to restore them 
and punish him for taking them.” 

‘‘ Take no thought for your life what ye shall 
eat, nor for your body what ye shall put on.” The 
much-abused tramps are about the only ones among 
Tjs who follow this command to the letter. Pious 
men, church members, ministers do “ take thought ” 
for these things, and seek salaries which will pre- 
vent a lack of them. Some say the command 
means “ take no anxious thought ” ; but if your 
minister were deprived of his parish, he could 
hardly help taking anxious thought for the feed- 
ing and clothing of his family, and in these times 
of failures and slirinkages and embezzlements al- 
most any persons having families depending upon 
them must sometimes take thought and anxious 
thought. 

“ Let no man seek his own, but every man an- 
other’s wealth.” Do you know any religious per- 
sons who obey this rule ? Do you know any re- 
ligious shopkeeper who asks his customers to trade 
at the shop over the way, rather than at his own ? 
Any religious shoemaker who entreats people to 
get their shoes at another’s shoe-store ? Any re- 
ligious merchant who hastens to tell his fellow- 
merchants the secret news he has received of a rise 


2/2 


Miss Hunt's Letter to Lucinda, 


in the price of goods ? Any religious lawyers and 
physicians who, in obedience to the command, turn 
over their clients or their patients to some other 
practitioners ? Any clergyman who, in want of a 
parish himself, recommends for a desirable situa- 
tion some other candidate ? The usual following 
of this text is : 

Let no man seek another’s, but every man his 
own wealth.” 

We find no rule more forcibly enjoined than that 
of the subjection of wives to husbands. The com- 
mand in regard to this is given over and over and 
over, and always clearly. “ Wives, submit your- 
selves unto your husbands in everything.” Sub- 
mit yourselves unto your husbands as unto the 
Lord.” “ As the Church is subject to Christ, so 
let the wives be to their husbands in everything.” 
Plain, forcible, comprehensive ; yet your minister 
told you that these commands are never to be fol- 
lowed when such following is disapproved by your 
conscience. 

But, although these and many other texts may, 
it seems, be interpreted by the light of reason and 
conscience, and are not to be taken literally, there 
is one text which we are told must be taken liter- 
ally and literally practiced ; ‘‘ Let your women 


Miss Hunt's Letter to Lucinda. 


273 


keep silence in the church, for it is not permitted 
unto them to speak.” 

I think no person has ever told us why this text 
is to have a literal rendering and those others not ; 
but the distinction is made. The same men who 
invite ‘‘ a woman to teach ” in adult schools of both 
sexes ; who always ask their wives at home, before 
taking an important step ; who would resist “ the 
powers that be,” if ordered by them to commit a 
sin ; who seek ,their own wealth,” and not ‘‘ an- 
other’s ” ; who hold fast by “ all that they have ” 
and try to get more ; who sue at law the person 
who “ taketh away [their] goods,” and seldom give 
to any ‘^man that asketh”; and take so much 
thought for their lives as to make the accumulation 
of property an absorbing- aim ; who ‘‘owe ” many 
men and pay reluctantly; who would blame the 
woman who obeyed her husband to do wuckedly — 
these same men, having walked straight through, 
or gone around, or jumped over the texts quoted, 
find their way completely blocked by tliis one of 
Corinthians xiv. 34, and say : “ Now, here is some- 
thing which can neither be walked through, nor 
gone around, nor jumped over. “ Let your women 
keep silence in the church.” Tliis means exactly 
what it says, and must be followed accordingly. 


274 


Miss HimVs Letter to Lucinda. 


If a woman should ask, Why must this be taken 
literally, and those not? they can offer no other 
reason than because we think so. If the woman 
says. My reason and conscience do not tell me to 
interpret and follow this text literally, they answer, 
virtually : 

Your reason and conscience can guide you 
in the interpretation of any other text ; but here 
you must lay these aside and be guided by ours. 
We think this text should be interpreted liter- 
ally, and you must accept our opinion. If she 
asks. Why should I accept your opinion ? the 
answer can only be : Because we think that in this 
case you ought to. If asked. Why must we do in 
this case as you think we ought to? the answer 
can only be : Because we think that- in this case 
you ought to do as we think you ought to. They 
can bring no higher authority, for they have al- 
ready allowed that the texts making woman sub- 
ject to men are not to be followed when her con- 
science tells her otherwise. 

I ought to say here that I have myself no desire 
to speak in the church, or in any public place — I 
should shrink from doing so ; but I do like people 
to be sensible and logical ; and there is neither sense 
nor logic in insisting that one Scripture command 


Miss Hunt's Letter to Lucinda. 


275 


shall be followed literally, while allowing that 
many others are not to be. 

A curious part of this matter is that the com- 
mand thus insisted on is one with which man has 
nothing to do. There is no call for his interfer- 
ence. The word let ” is used here in a general 
sense, as in many other cases : Let him that is on 
the housetop not come down ” ; ‘‘ Let him that 
thirsteth come.” The command concerns women 
only, and its interpretation rests with her. Why 
should man step in between her and her Creator ? 
or even between her and Paul? Surely, if her own 
reason and conscience may be trusted as guides in 
the many trying exigencies of life, they ma}^ also 
be trusted here ; or did the Almighty make wo- 
man capable of comprehending every text of Script- 
ure save this particular one ? And, if so, where is 
it indicated that here man’s comprehension shall 
supply the deficiency ? 

Another cmious part of the matter is that Paul 
himself directed how a woman should speak in the 
church ; or, rather, how she should not — namely, 
‘‘with her head uncovered.” The word used is 
“ prophesy.” But “ prophesy ” here does not mean 
foretelling, but speaking from inspiration. “He 
that prophesieth edifieth the Church.” 


2/6 Miss Hunt's Letter to Lucinda, 

Your minister spoke truly. In questions of 
right or wrong, every human being should decide 
for himself or herseK what is duty. A woman 
may be willing that a man should decide for her ; 
may prefer that he should; may insist that he 
should ; but when it comes to authority, that of 
her own reason and conscience is supreme. 


THE SCHOOL OF HOME. 

Let the school of home be a good one. Let reading be 
such as to quicken the mind for better reading still ; for 
the school at home is progressive. 


The baby is to be read to. What shall mother and 
sister and father and brother read to the baby ? 

Babyland. Babyland rhymes and jingles; great big 
letters and little thoughts and words out of Babyland. 
Pictures so easy to understand that baby quickly learns 
the meaning of light and shade, of distance, of tree, of 
cloud. The grass is green ; the sky is blue ; the flowers 
— are they red or yellow? That depends on mother’s 
house-plants. Baby sees in the picture what she sees in 
the home and out of the window. 

Babyland, mother’s monthly picture-and-j ingle primer 
for baby’s diversion, and baby’s mother-help ; 50 cents 
a year. 


What, when baby begins to read for herself? Our 
Little Men and Women is made to go on with. Baby- 
land forms the reading habit. Think of a baby with the 
reading habit! After a little she picks up the letters 
and wants to know what they mean. The jingles are 
jingles still ; but the tales that lie under the jingles 
begin to ask questions. 

What do Jack and Jill go up the hill after water for? 
Isn’t water down hill ? Baby is outgrowing Babyland. 

No more nonsense. There is fun enough in sense. 
The world is full of interesting things ; and, if they come 
to a growing child not in discouraging tangles but an 
easy one at a time, there is fun enough in getting hold 

i 


of them. That is the way to grow. Our Little Men 
AND Women helps such growth as that. Beginnings of 
things made easy by words and pictures ; not too easy. 
The reading habit has got to another stage. 

A dollar for such a school as that for a year. 


Then comes The Pansy with stories of child-life, tiave* 
at home and abroad, adventure, history old and new, re^ 
ligion at home and over the seas, and roundabout tales 
on the International Sunday School Lesson. 

Pansy the editor; The Pansy the magazine. There 
are thousands and thousands of children and children of 
larger growth all over the country who know about Pansy 
the writer, and The Pansy the magazine. There are 
thousands and thousands more who will be glad to know. 

A dollar a year for The Pansy. 


The reading habit is now pretty well established ; not 
only the reading habit, but liking for useful reading ; and 
useful reading leads to learning. 

Now comes Wide Awake, vigorous, hearty, not to say 
heavy. No, it isn’t heavy, though full as it can be of 
practical help along the road to sober manhood and wom- 
anhood. Full as it can be I There is need of play as 
well as of work ; and Wide Awake has its mixture of 
work and rest and play. The work is all toward self- 
improvement; sols the rest; and so is the play. ^2.40 
a year. 


Specimen copies of all the Lothrop magazines for 
fifteen cents; any one for five — in postage stamps 
Address D. Lothrop Company, Boston. 

ii 


You little know what help there is in books for the 
iverage housewife. 

Take Domestic Problems^ for instance, beginning with 
this hard question : “ How may a woman enjoy the de- 

lights of culture and at the same time fulfil her duties to 
family and household ? ’’ The second chapter quotes from 
somebody else : “ It can’t be done. I’ve tried it; but, as 
things now are, it can’t be done.” 

Mrs. Diaz looks below the surface. Want o.. prepara- 
tion and culture, she says, is at the bottom of a woman’s 
failure, just as it is of a man’s. 

The proper training of children, for instance, can’t be 
done without some comprehension of children themselves, 
of what they ought to grow to, their stages, the means of 
their guidance, the laws of their health, and manners. 
But mothers get no hint of most of these things until they 
have to blunder through them. Why not ? Isn’t the 
training of children woman’s mission ? Yes, in print, but 
not in practice. What is her mission in practice ? Cook- 
ing and sewing ! 

Woman’s worst failure then is due to the stupid blunder 
of putting comparatively trivial things before the most im- 
portant of all. The result is bad children and waste of a 
generation or two — all for putting cooking and sewing 
before the training of children. 

Now will any one venture to say that any particular 
mother, you for instance, has got to put cooking and sew- 
ing before the training of children } 

Any mother who really makes up her mind to put h^r 
children first can find out how to grow tolerab^ childtv.a 
at least. 


And that is what Mrs. Diaz means by preparation — ^ 
httle knowledge beforehand — the little that leads to more, 
It ca7i be done ; and you can do it ! 11 you ? It’s a 

matter of choice ; and you are the chooser. 

Domestic Problems. By Mrs. A. M. Diaz. $i. D. Lothrop Company, Boston. 

We have touched on only one subject. The author 
treats of many. 


Dr. Buckley the brilliant and versatile editor of the 
Christian Advocate says in the preface of his book on 
northern Europe “ I hope to impart to such as have never 
seen those countries as clear a view as can be obtained 
from re; ’in ' and “ My chief reason for traveling in 
Russia wa> . , .dy Nihilism and kindred subjects.” 

This affords the best clue to his book to those who 
know the writer’s quickness, freshness, independence, 
force, and penetration. 

The Midnight Sun, the Tsar and the Nihilist. Adventures and Observations in 
Norway, Sweden and Russia. By J. M. Buckley, LL. D. 72 illustrations, 376 
pages. ^3. D. Lothrop Company, Boston. 

Just short of the luxurious in paper, pictures and print. 


The writer best equipped for such a task has put into 
one illustrated book a brief account of every American 
voyage for polar exploration, including one to the south 
almost forgotten. 

American Explorations in the Ice Zones. By Professor J. E. Nourse, U. S. N 
10 maps, 120 illustrations, 624 pages. Cloth, $3, gilt edges $3.50, half-calf 
J). Lothrop Company, Boston. 

Not written especially for boys ; but they claim it. 
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